


Spellbound

by energetically



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Dark Magic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan is a Little Shit, M/M, Magic, My attempt at a witch fic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pray for me, Protective Lee Taeyong, Rivalry, Sexual Humor, Smut, Witchcraft, Witches, confident mark lee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:29:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/energetically/pseuds/energetically
Summary: There’s a whole world outside the little covens of Solana— an entire realm of humans. No witch has ever dared to step foot outside of their quaint realm, but Taeyong, Ten, and Donghyuck are determined to discover something much more enigmatic than their own unrefined powers— how to live a normal life.OrThree novice witches try to assimilate into the human realm.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, Lee Taeyong/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 113
Kudos: 290





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I want to lay a disclaimer that I know next to nothing about witches or magic (that's right I'm the 5% that has not watched a single Harry Potter movie, Hocus Pocus, Practical Magic, The Craft, etc. etc.) so anything presented in this fic is my own interpretation of how things should work. That being said please enjoy this sporadic plot that I've been sitting on for a month.

"I'm in love!"

The door slams shut behind the voice, shaking everything in its wake—vials and ampoules clatter on shelves, and a couple of books slide out of place and onto the floor.

Ten places a firm grasp on the handles of the crockpot sitting on the coffee table, ensuring that none of its contents have spilled before angling a curious eye towards the newcomer. Donghyuck shrugs off his leather jacket and tosses his laptop bag on the armchair, shucking off one heeled boot after the next. His arrivals are always loud and boisterous. The uproar never failed to boil the sensitive concoctions in the jars lining the windowsill, and even the floorboards creak beneath the weight of his presence.

Ten doesn't give in to what he knows Donghyuck wants. Instead, he continues to focus on the bubbling liquid before him, fingers curling into each other as he guides the books back into place without acknowledgment. The boots clatter on the patch of hardwood floor near the front door and he counts it down to the very last second— _ three, two one _ — before Donghyuck bounces down in the armchair, legs hanging over one arm, head tossing back on the other. The strands of brown and purple highlighted hair fall away from his face as he stares back at Ten, gaze so hard and insistent that it's almost impossible to ignore. Lucky for Ten, he's an expert in not feeding Donghyuck underserved attention.

"Hey," Donghyuck pouts, unfazed by the pool of blood rushing to his head. "Didn't you hear me?"

"People in Solana could hear you," Ten murmurs, dragging his attention away from the pot to the open book beside it. "You don't have to make such an exhibition of yourself every time you come home."

The pout is audible even through the silence that follows but Ten refuses to bat a single eye. Donghyuck pushes up the sleeves of his black sweater to his elbows and locks his fingers across his chest. "I'm entitled to my emotions. I agreed to hide my powers, not my feelings."

Ten rolls his eyes.

Donghyuck rights himself up in the chair and plants his feet on the ground. "You know how you felt when you started dating Kun? Well, imagine that, but ten times less disgusting."

"You're really not winning any sympathy points with me right now, Donghyuck."

"I don't want sympathy. I want your complete and undivided attention."

Ten sighs. It's the curse of an only child—desperate for attention, always seeking validation and praise. Donghyuck really doesn't know any different than to be this way and maybe it's Ten's and Taeyong's fault for enabling the bratty side of him even after leaving Solana for the human realm. Ten places the glass lid atop the crockpot, burying the emerging cloud of steam before turning to face Donghyuck from his own position on the floor, legs crossed, and arm resting on the couch behind him.

"I have an attention span of about one minute," Ten says, tugging at the earring hanging from his lobe. " _ You've _ got about thirty seconds."

Donghyuck's face lights up and he scoots to the edge of his seat, barely able to contain his smile. "Well, first of all, he's good looking.  _ Really _ good looking," Donghyuck ticks off a finger. "But not in the way where he  _ knows _ he's good looking and he's all arrogant about it. It's a humble flex."

"Uh-huh."

"And he's smart—kind of dorky, but he makes up for it in humor.  _ Oh _ ! And he's on the university basketball team. He's a small forward. I have no idea what that means, but that's beside the point—"

"Uh-huh."

"And he's  _ so _ down to earth," Donghyuck sinks back into the armchair, eyes rolling towards the ceiling. "I spent thirty minutes with him just talking and talking about all kinds of shit and I don't even know what about because it was  _ that _ chill. I think he's a music major or something. Maybe it was English?"

"Short black hair?" Ten asks bluntly. "Couple of moles? Always wears caps?"

Donghyuck's eyes fall to Ten. "Yeah," he slows.

"Is his name Mark Lee?"

Donghyuck lifts up from the slow sinking pull of the armchair's grasp and looks pointedly at Ten now. "How did you—" His eyes narrow. "What did you do?"

The corners of Ten's mouth curl impishly and he moves his gaze back towards the spellbook, moving it to the center of the table. "Nothing. I didn't do anything to him."

Donghyuck stands up and moves to the opposite side of the coffee table and sinks down to his knees on the worn shag rug. It’s another desperate attempt to vie for Ten's attention that proves futile. "No, I know that look! Tell me what you did." Donghyuck demands. The shelved elixirs slosh against their containers and the liquid in the crockpot darkens to an opaque black, bubbling in its agitated state.

"Relax," Ten adjusts the lid carefully. He looks up at Donghyuck, unable to hide the stretch of his lips and the whites of his teeth. "I know the kid. I think it's cute you have a crush."

Donghyuck frowns for a moment and Ten knows he's watching with honeyed eyes as Ten drags his finger across the spellbook page, silently rereading the bulleted list of ingredients and directions. Eventually, Donghyuck relaxes though, and leans back on his hands, drawing some rune shaped pattern on the rug with his foot.

"On Johnny's best friend."

It's radio silence. No. Worse than radio silence. It's silence so deafening that it can be heard at high pitch frequencies ringing in Ten's ear. The look on Donghyuck's face is priceless. Ten knows it, even without looking.

"You're such a  _ liar _ !" Donghyuck shoves his foot under the table to kick Ten's shin, an action that earns him a dark glare. "You're trying to upset me. See, this is why I don't tell you anything."

"What reason would I have to lie to you when the truth is so much funnier?" Ten shrugs. "I'm not lying. Johnny and Mark are best friends. I had math with both of them last semester."

Donghyuck scrubs a hand over his face and sinks his nails into the apples of his cheeks. "But that means—"

"You're  _ fucked _ ," Ten smirks. "I know. Now, do you see why it's so funny?" He pushes himself off the ground and walks around Donghyuck and the coffee table. "You can't fake something this good."

Ten hears Donghyuck following him halfway to the wooden altar, so close behind him that Ten feels the anxious heat radiating from his body. Ten bends over and scours the various labels of each decanter in each cubby hole, humming when he finds what he's looking for almost immediately. Of course, Donghyuck's waiting when Ten rights himself, shoulders hunching over, and a pained look etched on his features.

"Hyung, can't you do something?" Donghyuck whines, dropping his shoulders and tossing his head back. Ten clicks his tongue. Rarely does the younger ever drop formalities—he's too proud to respect his elders and too defiant to follow any societal code of conduct—so it's definitely a last-ditch effort. An act of desperation. "Can't you talk to  _ him _ ?"

Ten traces a finger across the bottle’s label in his hand and takes his time to read the description as if he hasn't memorized it forward and backward. As if he hadn’t handpicked and curated the bottle's contents himself.

Donghyuck lets out an exaggerated sigh. "What do I have to do? Beg?  _ Grovel _ ?"

Ten looks up from the bottle, hand gripping the neck and eyes lighting bright. "Now  _ that's _ an idea," he clicks his tongue, lulling his head to the side. "Grovel."

"You're out of your fucking mind," Donghyuck glares. "That was a rhetorical question."

"A great philosopher once said 'he who asks a question is a fool for a minute, but he who doesn't ask is a fool for life.'" Ten sets the bottle on the dining room table and folds his arms. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, I could stand sixty seconds of you being a fool. Now grovel. On your knees, and make it good."

"This is extortion."

"So what?" Ten smirks. "You said you're in love. People do crazy things when they're in love. Grovel."

"I'd rather die," Donghyuck huffs, sinking to his knees and stretching out on the floor. "You're supposed to take care of me, hyung." He whines, shutting his eyes tight and dragging his nails against the flooring. "I'm the baby! I'm not supposed to have to work this hard. I'm supposed to have fun and be carefree. Just because you and Taeyong have lost your youth doesn't mean you should deprive me of mine!"

Ten rolls his eyes and retrieves the bottle of bay leaves before stepping over Donghyuck's crumpled body. "Oh, God. I wish you'd practice your incantations more. Maybe then you could cast a spell to help you get a clue."

He’s barely halfway into the living room when Donghyuck barrels into him from behind, arms locked in a death grip around Ten’s waist, face buried in the arch of his back.

"Fine," Donghyuck mutters. "You win."

Ten taps the wooden cork in the bottle and smiles, craning his neck as far as it'll go to bring Donghyuck into view. "This is groveling?"

"I come from a proud lineage of witches," Donghyuck murmurs against the cotton fabric of Ten's shirt. "We never let our knees touch the floor with the intent of begging."

Ten snorts. "Every family has an outlier." Donghyuck definitely never had a problem with sinking to his knees.

Donghyuck slides his hands beneath Ten's shirt and digs his nails into his flesh. 

Ten recoils and lets out a muffled curse that dies quickly in the back of his throat. "I'm kidding,” he says, pausing for a moment. “Partially." He reorients his position to face Donghyuck, placing his hands on his shoulders and pulling him upright. "Groveling or not you know it's not gonna make a difference to Taeyong. His opinion is never gonna change. It hasn't for a year and it won't now. So either you can stand up to him yourself or let your crush fade into oblivion."

There aren't too many things that the two of them can't handle. They can manage basic level spells without much effort, they can retrieve rare and limited ingredients from across the world, from across realms, and from across dimensions. Hell, even mortal grade math (which apparently is far more than a few additions and subtractions once you reach collegiate level) is doable with a textbook and online video tutorials. But there's no spell, no incantation— no level of prayer that can stop Taeyong when his mind is made up about anything. Ten's known him for longer than Donghyuck—by the grace of being born one year short of Taeyong and before Donghyuck was even a thought in the universe— so he's experienced more than enough instances of Taeyong's unyielding stubbornness. But setting Donghyuck up for failure could prove beneficial if not entertaining. It could throw Taeyong off the trail leading to the many things Ten actively hides from him— an opportunity he’d be foolish not to take. After all, there are  _ a lot _ of things he’s hiding from Taeyong.

Donghyuck relaxes his shoulders and straightens his posture. "You're right," he nods and moves further into the living room once again. He grabs one of many throw pillows off of the sofa and runs the golden tassels through his fingers before tossing it on the floor and sitting on it. "Taeyong is logical—reasonable. There's no reason he shouldn't be able to step outside of his bias and see where I'm coming from."

Ten sets the jar of bay leaves on the apothecary table and licks the pad of his finger, smudging a bit of the ink in the book as he flips the page. "Oh baby," he hums with a quick shake of his head. "It's cute that you think that."

A strangled noise escapes past Donghyuck's lips and he leans forward to brace his hands on the edge of the table. "But you just told me to go for it!"

"I did," Ten's eyes skirt towards the cuckoo clock as the gears turn and the minute hand clings to the hour. "I didn't say anything about it working. But that's no reason you still shouldn't stand your ground."

The short silence between them is replaced by a whimsical tune ebbing from within the crafted clock and a little dancer pops out from the tiny doors, twirling en pointe. Ten looks at the clock again with a sigh, sinking down cross-legged and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Honestly," he murmurs pointedly at Donghyuck. "Is it so much to ask for punctuality? You guys know how important tonight is. Not just for all of us, but for me too."

"Hey I'm here aren't I?" Donghyuck leans back on his hands and lolls his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"Yes. An entire hour later than what we agreed upon."

"You know what they say," Donghyuck's eyes twinkle beneath the canopy of string lights overhead. "Better late than never."

"No, I believe the saying is  _ never late is better _ ," Ten slides the bottle across the table towards Donghyuck who catches it before it tips over the edge. "If you want to actually make it in  _ this _ world you should try practicing time management. The world doesn't begin and end when you want it to."

Donghyuck frowns at the bottle in his hand, removing the cork upon the insistence of Ten's eyes and carefully pours the dried leaves on the tabletop. "It can if I want it to," he smirks after a moment of thought, directing his attention towards the clock and snapping his fingers.

The monotonous ticking of the second hand slows to a stop, vibrating against some invisible force as it tries to push its way past the five and the six. Ten frowns and snaps his own finger, sending the secondhand surging forward to its right full orientation.

"I told you to stop doing that. It's bad for the clock."

Donghyuck lets out a drawn-out groan and extends his legs out, socks toeing the ragged ends of the rugs. When Ten goes back to his default mode of ignoring him, the sound drones out again, this time more exaggerated and pained with Donghyuck shifting closer to Ten's side. It's only when Donghyuck leans over and places his head in Ten's lap that Ten draws his eyes away from the book once again.

"Yes, Donghyuck?"

"What am I gonna tell Taeyong?!"

"Tell him whatever you like," Ten shrugs. "But think of something fast because here he comes."

"What?" Donghyuck surges up.

This time, Ten's prepared. He stretches his arms out wide, fingers spread apart and the books stay firmly in place when the front door flies open, nearly slamming back against the living room wall.

Taeyong doesn't give them so much as a passing glance as he stalks towards the dining room table and shrugs off his backpack, tossing it on one of the chairs. "You think this world has so many great things to offer," he says aloud, tugging the black beanie from his long silver strands. "You think there are so many wonderful things to do and places to go and opportunities," he pulls his sweater overhead and tosses it into the hallway, and brushes the wrinkles off his white t-shirt before finally meeting their eyes. "Until you realize—how can anything  _ this _ amazing, put forth the existence of Johnny Suh?"

Donghyuck's eyes meet Ten's briefly before he's up, kneeling onto the couch cushions and leaning over the back to watch Taeyong rifle through his backpack. "I take it class didn't go well today?" Donghyuck tries, fingers tapping against the upholstery.

"Oh no, class went great," Taeyong sucks his teeth, pulling out a binder. "Class was perfect—it's Johnny that's the little nagging, irritating flaw that you can't get rid of. You know, the little crack in the sidewalk waiting for you to trip up just so that it can get the satisfaction of ruining your day."

"As much as I'd love to once again, have a long,  _ long _ talk about Johnny, for the third time— _ this week _ — it's already 9:17," Ten gestures towards the clock. "And I have to-"

"Tell us what happened, hyung," Donghyuck interrupts. Ten exhales through his nostrils and rests his forehead against the coffee table.

"So the professor separates us into groups— one side pro and the other con," Taeyong flips open the binder. "Well, it just so happens that the book we're reading this month is The Crucible—the  _ biggest _ piece of hogwash I've ever read about witches in my life. I was assigned as the spokesperson for the opposing team and of course, Suh made it his obligation to speak for the pro side."

"Was it really that bad?" Donghyuck asks.

"Well," Taeyong opens the rings of the binder and pulls out a sheet of paper with red markings on it. "I did my part—flawlessly of course— and then it was Suh's turn and when someone else has the floor, you have to be quiet and respectful—"

"And lemme guess," Ten lifts his head from the table and points his index finger at Taeyong. "You didn't even last a second?"

Taeyong's eyebrows knit together and his nose wrinkles as he grimaces. "He was completely wrong! On all levels! How could I possibly allow him to go on spewing so much bullshit when these people are already so impressionable?" He stalks over and sets the paper in front of Ten and crosses his arm. "The professor made me stay after as he graded me with a rubric and reprimanded me about how "unprofessional" I am and how I lack the spirit of a "team player". We were on opposing teams!"

Donghyuck slides down on the couch and hesitates. "You know, you don't always have to be right, hyung. A little modesty goes a long way."

Taeyong whips around, arms still crossed, but brows lifting high towards his hairline. "Really?  _ You _ of all people are gonna give me this lecture?"

Donghyuck shrugs. "Well, it's different for me because I really am always right. But you have a Type A personality that just has to be in control and correct about everything and all I'm saying is sometimes it's easier to play the fool than be the fool."

"I don't have to do either because I was  _ right _ ," Taeyong hisses.

"Okay!" Ten moves the sheet of paper aside and holds up his hands. "I've tolerated the most I can of this conversation. Need I remind both of you that it's a full moon tonight and it's now 9:22, and I have a date with a very, very, handsome man that's probably waiting for me with strawberries and champagne?"

Taeyong scoffs. "You don't even eat fruit."

"Who said anything about eating?" Ten smirks. "Well, Kun  _ will _ be eating them, but not in the traditional way—"

"Alright!" Taeyong squeezes his eyes shut. "Enough. I get it. I'll put my life crisis on hold if you just—don't describe anything else." Taeyong picks up the open spellbook from the table and scans the list of ingredients. "Okay," he breathes out. "Did you get a cauldron?”

“What do you think this is?” Ten gestures towards the simmering pot.

Taeyong blinks. “I think it’s a crockpot. Not a cauldron.”

“It’s the closest thing I could get that wouldn’t cause a fire code violation or set off the alarms,” Ten removes the lid from the crockpot allowing the steam to rise. “Do you know how much attention we’d draw with an actual cauldron? Cut me some slack. This was the best I could do.”

Taeyong takes the lid from Ten’s hand. “Irene said we needed a cauldron,  _ not _ a crockpot Ten.”

“Well, Irene doesn’t live in student living apartments,  _ Taeyong _ ,” Ten enunciates. “So we’ll make do. It’s better than that old tea kettle we were using before. The spell is simple enough that even a level one witch can do it and we’re level threes. I’m sure we can manage.”

Taeyong breathes out as he sets the lid back down and turns back towards the book still open in his hand. “Fine. Do we have everything else?”

“Well actually,” Donghyuck pipes up, moving to stand, “There’s one thing that— ”

“An apple,” Ten says. “We still need an apple and some honey.”

Taeyong clicks his tongue and snaps his finger, immediately turning to point at Donghyuck. “Donghyuck, the kitchen please?”

The words die on the tip of Donghyuck’s tongue with a heavy sulk as he shuffles into the kitchen. Taeyong snaps the book close between his hand and moves towards the wooden cabinet in the corner of the living room and pulls the glass pane doors open. He withdraws his favorite mug— a black porcelain cup with a golden handle and a lip slightly chipped from overuse— and returns to sit by Ten’s side, orienting himself to a comfortable position before sinking his shoulders with an exhausted sigh.

It takes a couple of seconds before Taeyong rolls his eyes, unable to ignore the insistent stare of Ten’s dark eyes on his skin. “What?” he asks, rolling his neck to stare at Ten’s unreadable gaze.

“You seemed stressed,” Ten tilts his head to the side.

“Did you not just hear my story about my grade sinking into the sewer?”

Ten digs his thumbnail beneath the dark painted nail of his middle finger and flicks out an imaginary clump of dirt. “What do you care? You’ve gotten a perfect score on every assignment since the semester started and this—” Ten picks up Taeyong’s forgotten rubric and waves it in his face. “ — was an extra credit assignment.”

“Your point?”

“Why don’t you cut out the middleman of all the bickering and fighting and just fuck Johnny already?”

Taeyong blanches, retching so hard and insistently that Ten’s second instinct of grabbing the nearby wastebasket is overridden by his first instinct of pushing as far away as possible.

“Have you lost your mind?” Taeyong grits out with a frown, hands encircling his own neck. “I don’t want to fuck him! I can’t  _ stand _ him!”

“Oh please,” Ten shakes his head with a condescending smile. “Ever since you met the guy last year you talk about him nonstop. Multiple times a week and sometimes you can’t go an hour without saying his name.” He watches the realization hit Taeyong slowly before adding, “News flash: the opposite of love is not hatred. It’s  _ indifference _ . Hate and love are two sides of the same fucked up coin.”

Taeyong juts his chin out and sits up straight. “Okay so maybe I’m a little fixated—” Ten snorts. “ — but I do not want Johnny Suh. I barely want anything to do with the guy more than the course-mandated time that I already have to spend looking at his face from across the lecture hall.”

“So you watch him in class?”

The long silvery strands of hair can’t hide the red flush arising at the nape of Taeyong’s neck and Ten would be lying if he had said that it didn’t bring him immense satisfaction. It would be all too easy to bust Taeyong’s balls at once, calling him out on the cough that nearly chokes him or the way he sputters through trying to formulate a coherent response, but Donghyuck returns from the kitchen with an armful of items, splaying them out on the coffee table. Ten makes a note to file Taeyong’s response in his “For Later” mental folder.

“Perfect,” Taeyong clears his throat and pushes closer to the table, pushing the other two mugs Donghyuck brings towards each of them. “Let’s get started.”

“Finally,” Ten grabs the jar of honey and dips his finger inside to grab the hardened honeycomb at the bottom. He drops the crystallized sugar into the liquid, still black and tarry from Donghyuck’s outbursts, and hums when the bubbling potion tinges darker.

“Actually Taeyong— ” Donghyuck tries only to be cut off by Taeyong’s drawn-out hum as he peruses through the spell.

“Let’s see,” Taeyong mumbles, fingers dragging across the parchment. “Honey, an apple, a crystal of kohl— basil, moon water, and pressed charcoal.” He grabs a dried leaf between two of his fingers and lifts it up. “And the last thing we need for the protection spell is to whisper our intentions into the wefts of bay leaves.”

Ten nudges Donghyuck, prompting the younger to pick up a single leaf and cupping it in his hands towards his mouth. The trio whispers into the palm of their hands, breath heavy with the words laid out in the spellbook, eventually dropping the leaves into the concoction. Taeyong grabs the ladle Donghyuck brought from the kitchen and stirs the clouded potion until the leaves disintegrate into a thin, smoky cloud.

“Ok,” Taeyong taps the ladle on the side of the pot and places it on the table, casting a glance towards Donghyuck and Ten. “Let’s join hands.”

“But Taeyong—”

“After the spell,” Taeyong admonishes, reducing Donghyuck to an uneasy slump. The latter reluctantly places one hand atop Taeyong’s and relents to Ten grabbing the other. Taeyong weaves his fingers between Ten’s and pushes out a breath, eyes half-lidded, but focused. “On three.”

One.

Two.

Three.

_ “By the moon full and round,  _

_ An intent of strength to be expound _

_ A sip of elixir boiled and brewed  _

_ And for 30 days I am renewed.” _

The murky elixir froths, an accumulation of foam gathering along the surface before melting into the broth. The liquid seizes up and grows firm until it slows to a thick gelatinous state, bouncing at the slightest shake of the table.

“Is it supposed to be that black?” Taeyong blinks.

“Is it supposed to be that... _ solid _ ?” Ten shifts forward to look into the pot.

Donghyuck plays with his fingers, teeth sinking down into his bottom lip. “Well,” he hesitates. “We did use a lot of black items in it. And— and maybe it’s gelatinous for...aesthetic?”

Ten scoffs. “What do we care about aesthetics? All we need is for it to work.”

“Well, how do you know it doesn’t work when you haven’t even tasted it!”

“Enough,” Taeyong groans, picking up the ladle again and pushing it through the gel. Liquid seeps through the cracks of the gelatin mold collecting in the base of the spoon and coagulating seconds after touching air. Taeyong pours the spoonful into one of the cups and angles it towards both Donghyuck and Ten. “Here.”

“I’m not drinking that,” Donghyuck looks pointedly at the mug.

“Sure you are,” Ten says, shifting towards Donghyuck and placing a gentle hand on his shoulders. “You’re doing this for  _ Taeyong _ because you know if the situation was reversed, Taeyong would do the same for  _ you _ .” The words are heavy with emphasis and Ten squeezes his grip a little tighter to hone in his point. Donghyuck looks at Ten for a moment, eyes widening after a brief realization, and takes the cup reluctantly between his hands.

“I wouldn’t say it’s that serious,” Taeyong says, scooping up another spoonful of the semisolid and pouring it in Ten’s cup with an audible  _ splat _ . “We’re  _ all _ going to drink it.”

Ten studies the cup pushed in front of him with distaste. He trails his finger along the brim and grips the handle, bringing the mug up to sniff. It’s a strong smell, one that he can’t quite put his finger on. It’s a clear burn to the nasal passages, the type of burn that comes from powerful chemicals, or the residual sting from a cloud of thick smoke. A second too long and Ten wheezes, setting the cup back on the coffee table and looking away to clear his throat.

“Donghyuck’s right. One sip of that and Kun’s gonna think I’m a chronic smoker, one pack away from lung disease.”

Taeyong pours the final spoonful into his own mug. “Too bad. You said it yourself— this spell is easy enough for level ones. There’s no way we’ve messed this up. Now drink.”

Taeyong brings the cup to his lips and gulps down a sizable amount, carefully swallowing the liquid down bit by bit. Ten follows suit and so does Donghyuck, after watching the two of them finish the brew in seconds, setting the mugs back on the table.

The potion runs hot upon touching the tongue, mixing with saliva and pooling at the back of the throat. It’s not completely homogenized— Ten fills the grittiness of kohl powder and charcoal wedging in between his teeth, stubbornly clinging to the enamel no matter how many times his tongue runs across it. When the elixir hits the back of the throat, it congeals, thickening so quickly that Ten’s throat reflexively tries to close in a desperate attempt to expel the foreign object back into his mouth. It’s a clear struggle, one that isn’t unique to himself alone given the tortured expressions on Taeyong and Donghyuck’s own faces, but he manages to force the clumps down, a sharp exhale following shortly after.

He smacks his lips, recoiling at the sour and bitter taste that hits his tongue instantly, and reaches for his mug at the same time that Donghyuck grips his own, spitting as much of the horrible taste back into the vessel.

“Okay,” Taeyong grits out, swiping his tongues across his teeth. “That’s  _ definitely _ not right.”

“You think?” Ten glares from his hunched position over his mug.

Taeyong pushes himself off the floor, bringing the spellbook with him. “I don’t understand what happened! We did everything right,” he flips the page back and forth, rereading the ingredients and instructions again before flashing an accusing look towards Ten. “You must’ve made the moon water wrong.”

“Uh,  _ excuse me _ ,” Ten blinks, placing a hand on his chest defensively. “There was nothing wrong with my moon water.”

“Did you let the sunlight touch it?”

“Taeyong,” Ten glares, standing up to mirror Taeyong’s stance. “I’ve been making moon water for years. There’s nothing wrong with my water. If anything, it was your bitter rant about Johnny that curdled it. You know brews are temperamental!”

Taeyong’s mouth drops open and he closes it just as quickly, shutting the book and sliding it back on the bookshelf. “Don’t try to pin this on me,” he says after refacing Ten. “That thing was pitch black when I came in.” He huffs a breath and places his hands on his hips. “The only way it could’ve turned out this bad is if we all had different intentions.” His eyes narrow, arms crossing. “Did you really have to see Kun  _ that _ badly?”

“I didn’t ask to see Kun,” Ten glares. “I asked for protection.”

“That’s impossible because  _ I _ asked for protection,” Taeyong places his hand on his own chest.

The two stare at each other, each refusing to back down from the intensity of the other before straightening their stance and craning to look at Donghyuck still cross-legged on the ground.

Donghyuck’s attention fixates on the throw pillow, now cuddled in his lap, fingers tugging at the thread tassels until they pluck loose one by one. Sensing the sudden shift in the room, he looks up at the two of them and squeezes the pillow tighter.

“Donghyuck,” Taeyong warns.

“I asked for protection,” Donghyuck says. “...and for you to get along with Johnny.”

Ten sighs out, plopping back down and covering his face with both hands. He’s never going to get to see Kun.

Taeyong turns to face Donghyuck, nails digging into the side of his torso. “You. What.”

Donghyuck jumps up, hands out defensively. “Before you get mad, I  _ tried _ to tell you before we started!”

“Tell me what!?” Taeyong takes a step towards the younger, causing Donghyuck to step back.

“That I like Mark,” Donghyuck rushes out. “And Mark is Johnny’s best friend! I thought if you knew you wouldn’t let me date him because you and Johnny are... _ weird _ .”

“Sexually frustrated,” Ten calls from behind his hands.

“You poisoned us because of a stupid crush?!”

Donghyuck pouts, eyebrows furrowing. He doesn’t take another step back when Taeyong advances, standing his ground, feet firmly planted against the hardwood. Ten peaks up, hearing the slow-rising rumble of the old tomes on the bookshelves and the clattering of jars. Donghyuck’s nails sink into the palm of his hand and his bottom lip blisters beneath his teeth breaking skin. If it were possible, Ten thinks Taeyong would’ve curdled from the intensity behind Donghyuck’s eyes alone, a pool of warmth now a dark abyss capable of drowning the entranced with fervor.

“It’s not a  _ stupid _ crush,” Donghyuck enunciates. “It’s never a stupid crush! You thought Ten liking Kun was a “stupid” crush and look at them! They’re celebrating their one year anniversary.”

“Which I would actually like to get to at some point,” Ten adds but defaults to silence upon receipt of both Taeyong and Donghyuck’s fiery glare.

“Oh  _ yes _ ,” Taeyong tosses his head back and clasps his hands together. “That’s a great example. Ten’s dating a man who he has to constantly wipe the memory of just to maintain the status quo. Are you sure that’s the example you want to go with, Donghyuck?”

Ten frowns.  _ Ouch _ .

“But Mark isn’t like Kun or Johnny!” Donghyuck fires back. “He’s really sweet and understanding and he doesn’t even have to know about us! You’re just upset because he’s Johnny’s friend.”

Taeyong unplugs the crockpot from the wall and picks it up. “You’re wrong. I’m not upset at all because you’re not dating him.” He heads towards the kitchen, bypassing the pillows on the ground and Donghyuck altogether.

“But hyung!”

“I’m not changing my mind, Donghyuck!”

Donghyuck follows Taeyong into the kitchen and the two exchange more words, Ten flinching as an occasional bulb on the string of lights explodes and diving to catch a vial before it can crash into shards on the floor. He can barely make out the words through the chaos building up in the living room— plants toppling over, bottles cracking, wood groaning— but it ends with Donghyuck speeding through the dining room and into the hallway, the sound of his room door slamming shut seconds later.

Taeyong lets out a frustrated yell as he steps out into the dining room and points at Ten. “It was your idea to let him leave Solana with us. I swear he’s impossible!” Taeyong storms his way towards the back of the apartment, sending framed photos crashing to the floor with each step and causing the lights to flicker when his own bedroom door slams shut.

Ten looks at the salvaged bottle in his hand and sighs, pushing his face into the shag of the rug. 

* * *

“I am so sorry,” Ten apologizes for the umpteenth time, sitting on Kun’s sofa. He watches Kun as he returns from the kitchen, a box of pizza balancing on one hand and a couple of sodas in the other. If Kun is upset, it isn’t obvious. The same smile that had been plastered on his face when Ten arrived minutes ago (a record two hours later than their agreed-upon time) is still there, as big and bright as ever. He had kissed Ten like usual, hugging him tight to his body as Ten rambled out a stream of apologies and reassured him that he (somehow) understood. It confuses Ten to the point of fixation. He always thought humans to be fickle and petty. Kun truly is a different breed.

Kun sets the closed box on the coffee table, stacking the cans of soda next to it before sinking onto the leather sofa next to Ten. “I told you already,” he lolls his head to the side to offer his reassurance again. “It’s okay, Ten. Watching television at my place is just as good as—” he exhales slowly and trains his eyes on the television screen, “ — reservations at a restaurant with champagne and a non-refundable booking fee.”

“You  _ are _ upset,” Ten settles, tucking his feet beneath him.

Kun shrugs, the transition from commercial to commercial bathing him in a technicolored glow. He combs his fingers through his hair, pushing it off his forehead— the way Ten likes it— and taps his hand on his thigh. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed,” he admits, hesitating but daring to meet Ten’s eyes. “I wanted our first anniversary together to be special.”

There’s a flicker of something across Kun’s expression that’s unsettling. The smile eventually fades, lips pressing tightly together as he watches the commercial with what Ten knows to be feigned interest. No one is  _ that _ invested in citrus-scented floor cleaner. 

The energy surrounding Kun is light, definitely not suffocating, but it hovers around him in a haze. It wallows in a state of dismay and dissatisfaction and Kun can barely conceal the fact that internally, he’s beating himself up. It makes it hard for Ten to swallow, as if the haze latches on to his own person, prying open his jaw and settling along the lining of his throat. Kun isn’t one to dwell in his own shortcomings, so seeing him so dejected and—  _ crestfallen _ — is a hard pill to swallow.

Ten makes another mental note to file away for later: ‘Kick Donghyuck and Taeyong’s asses.’

“You know you don’t have to wine and dine me,” Ten says, nudging Kun with his foot, prompting his attention. “The night is just as perfect with the two of us, sitting here, eating pizza, and watching television.”

The smile is back, preceding a small chuckle as Kun draws his attention away momentarily before rearranging himself on the sofa to face Ten. “I know  _ you _ don’t care, but I wanted to do this for you.”

_ Seriously _ , Ten thinks to himself.  _ Fuck Taeyong and Donghyuck. _

Ten crawls towards Kun on the opposite side of the sofa and wedges himself to cuddle into his side. “Well,” he says, laying his head on Kun’s chest. “We have many more anniversaries for you to try again.” He draws a pattern haphazardly across Kun’s heart with his finger, random lines, and trails becoming more intentional and by design. He’s not sure if he can recall the sigil in its entirety by memory, but he still tries if it means calming Kun through his frustration. “Trust me, I’m not letting go of you  _ that _ easily.” He dots the invisible pattern, pressing his finger softly against the shirt until he feels skin beneath it.

Kun takes a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders, and rests his hand on the small of Ten’s back. “You’re right,” he murmurs. “I don’t know why I was so worked up.” He looks down at Ten. “All that matters is that you’re here now and that I love you.”

Ten grins. “I love you too, baby.” He purrs, placing a chaste kiss on Kun’s lips, shifting away as Kun attempts to sit back up.

“Do you love me enough to eat this pizza?” Kun rests his hands on the closed pizza box.

Ten eyes him uneasily, eyes darting towards the box and then back towards him. “Why? What’s in there?”

Kun pries open the box’s lid, pulling a slice away from the whole and tugging off the excess cheese with his fingers. He turns to face Ten and angles the slice of pizza towards Ten’s mouth, sighing with an eye roll when Ten slaps it out of his hand.

“Come on Ten.”

“I don’t even eat fruit by  _ itself _ and you expect me to eat it on pizza?” Ten frowns, looking at the overturned slice on Kun’s floor. “I don’t know what you were thinking but there better be another box of pizza in that kitchen.”

“It’s just pineapples. It’s not going to hurt you.”

“ _ I’m _ gonna hurt  _ you _ if you try to put that pizza near my face again.”

“Just two seconds ago you said you loved me, now you’re trying to throttle me?” Kun laughs, raising a brow.

“Two seconds ago you weren’t offending my taste buds.”

Kun inches closer to Ten and picks up another slice. “Come on,” he pouts despite the smile still playing at his lips. “For me. Just one bite. For the love of your life.” Ten purses his lips, locking them tight together, and shakes his head. Kun tickles under his chin before cupping Ten’s jaw altogether, pizza inches away from his mouth. “Just one.” He holds up a single finger, eyes pleading.

Ten stares at Kun for a second and sighs, reluctantly opening his mouth and taking a small bite of the slice, careful to only grab one— and only one— pineapple tidbit in the bite. Kun smiles victoriously and bites into the remainder of the slice watching Ten’s expression.

“Well?”

Ten swallows slowly. “It’s a good thing you’re cute, otherwise I’d dump you. Right here. Right now.”

Kun slouches back into the couch exaggeratedly, taking another munch out of the pizza. “Oh come on, it’s not  _ that _ bad.”

“There’s a weird aftertaste to it,” Ten smacks his lips with a frown, reaching for one of the cans of Coke. “I can confidently say it’s the worst thing I’ve eaten all day.” Inky gelatin included.

Kun sighs in concession, barely concealing the amusement in his eyes as he shakes his head and grabs another slice. “I swear I’ve never met anyone on the surface of this earth so overdramatic.”

Ten pauses in gulping down the acidic beverage, bringing the can to rest between his hands on his lap. The condensation from the can is cold and wet against his palms and after a few seconds, it’s hard to tell exactly how sweaty his hands actually are.

They have a track record— a sordid history that is inescapable despite all of the laughs, kisses, and ‘i love yous’ Kun dotes on him. The feeling of ‘love’ seems like a misnomer or some sort of half-truth. Sure, Kun is infatuated and adoring  _ today _ . But  _ last week’s _ Kun is still terrified out of his wits and  _ last month’s _ Kun still thinks Ten a monster.

Taeyong has warned him enough times about how bad of an idea it all is.  _ What if Kun tries to hurt you? What if Kun tells people?  _ Irrelevant. All of those scenarios are meaningless when Ten can wipe things away like a clean slate. The only concern of his is the obvious one and perhaps the most devastating.

What if Kun stops loving him?

The theme song of a cheesy sixties sitcom plays, pulling him away from the disparaging thoughts and he watches as an animated intro starts up, depicting a woman flying in on a broomstick with a pointed black hat and a pretty smile that extends to her eyes.

Kun hums. “I used to watch this show all the time when I was younger,” He sits up, reaching for the remote to turn the volume higher. “It was in syndication for years and my parents were fans.”

Ten trains his eyes back towards the screen just as the title of the show sparkles across in fancy cursive font.

_ Bewitched. _ Ten doesn’t know whether to laugh or vomit at the irony.

The animated witch wrinkles her nose and in a flash she’s in her home, smiling in the presence of her adoring husband who appears surprised yet endeared by her antics at best. Ten suppresses a snort. It’s such a glib interpretation but he expects nothing less. Most humans are polarized on the concept of witches. Either it’s ‘let’s burn them at the stake’ or ‘let’s market them as domesticated, sex symbols’ with little fluctuation in between.

Ten chances a glance towards Kun, taking in his focused form as a slow smile spreads across his face. “Is this what you really think of witches?” Ten asks, gesturing towards the show as it transitions from animation to a live-action setup. “Pretty, docile— non-threatening?” Despite how bullshit the concept is, Ten sinks his nails into the Coke can and prays that Kun believes the delusion. He’d gladly take a sugar-coated enchantress over a “wicked demon” any day. Kun’s words, not his.

“Of course not,” Kun snorts. “Witches aren’t real.”

Ten gently places the soda can on the glass table and angles himself to face Kun. “But if they  _ did _ exist, hypothetically, is this what you imagine?”

Kun glances at Ten, a chorus of tape-recorded laughter replacing the silence of the room. “Of course not,” he says with a gentle smile. “This is just fiction. Hollywood always plays these kinds of things up for the cameras.”

“But if they  _ were _ real— ” Ten slows to a stop, feeling Kun’s concern. “I’m just curious.”

Kun reaches for the remote, placing the sitcom on mute, and pulls his cellphone out of his back pocket. “When I was a kid, there was this movie that my cousins used to make me watch,” he clicks open the YouTube app and types in a couple of words from the search bar, bringing up a trailer of an old movie.

_ The Witches. _

Kun angles the phone for Ten to see the screen properly, but within a few seconds, Ten’s seen enough. The imagery of refined, wealthy women pulling off wigs, peeling back well-made up faces in favor of sunken ones— calloused skin, wrinkled, bumpy, and bruised sends his stomach lurching. Maybe it’s the faint remnants of the spoiled elixir unsettling him, but he feels thick bile creeping up his esophagus, threatening to spew out at any given moment. Ten can’t bear to watch anymore— he can’t bear the idea of Kun connecting these hideous, vile things with himself.

Kun wrinkles his face in disgust, viewing the video with the same amount of fascination one gives to an unsightly car accident. “It’s disturbing, isn’t it? This movie scarred me for life.”

It really isn’t fair. Ten has to thank a couple of prepubescent teens for scarring the love of his life into believing such a monstrous depiction. Even after Kun puts the phone away, he still shudders at the afterthought causing Ten to worry his bottom lip again.

“What about good witches?” Ten tries. “They could exist. Witches that just want to be treated— normally?”

Kun slows in the midst of reaching for another greasy slice of pizza. “Why the sudden fixation with witches?”

Ten swallows hard enough to subdue the bile. " _ I'm _ a witch."

Ten braces himself, watching something travel across Kun's face—processing. He's processing it. Ten makes it thirty seconds before Kun continues to grab his next slice of pizza, taking a considerable bite.

"You mean like those people that do palm readings and horoscopes and stuff?" Kun chews, brows knitting together.

Ten wants to roll his eyes but opts to stay stock-still and focused. "No," he breathes, tugging at the earring dangling from his ears. "Not like that."

"Then," Kun swallows the bite, reaching for a napkin. "Like, one of those TV psychics?"

"No. Not like that either. A  _ real _ witch. I'm a  _ real _ witch, Kun." Ten clasps his hands together in his lap.

Kun blinks, eyes darting around in a full circle. Ten expects a lot of things. Running. Screaming. Sheer panic. But Kun offers the one thing Ten doesn't expect.

Laughter.

Loud,  _ condescending _ laughter.

"You don't believe me?" Ten bristles, sitting up straight and rigid.

"I believe that  _ you _ believe that," Kun smirks through another bite of pizza. "I thought the champagne in the refrigerator was missing a few sips but now it makes sense."

Ten frowns. "Sure I had a couple of sips while you were in the bathroom but it has nothing to do with that. I'm not lying. I'm really a witch."

Kun discards his uneaten crust into the pizza box and wipes the grease off his hands with the napkin. "Okay," he says. "Show me."

"What?"

"If you really think you're a witch then you'll have to show me. Do something. Cast a spell"

Ten stands up from the sofa and moves to stand in front of the television. "You really don't believe me, do you?"

Kun reclines into the couch and stretches his arms across the back. "Seeing is believing."

Ten sucks his teeth.

"Fine," he says, resting his hands on his hips. "But I can only do little things."

"All I need is a little thing."

Kun trains his eyes on Ten and for the first time, Ten actually feels nervous. His hands fidget at his side, the restlessness too well-contained inside him, manifesting as the bounce of a knee or incessant pacing. He's tried and successfully managed to conceal his powers from Kun for an entire year and now, Kun expects him to show him everything—  _ anything _ . It's a hard adjustment for Ten to make. After all, he's  _ never _ been a victim of performance anxiety.

Kun looks around the apartment and then back at Ten, enlivened. "Does it take time to work?"

"Would you just shut up already?" Ten says, wriggling his fingers. "I've never done this intentionally before."

Kun leans forward, hunching over to clasps his hands together. "Ten, baby, please. Sometimes, we get weird feelings or beliefs that we can do things beyond all limits of reason— " he brings a hand up to reach for his can of Coke, "but not everything is what it see-"

Kun's voice dies to a grinding halt when the soda can slides from its position across the table and into his hand. His mouth hangs open, still midsentence, as he stares at the can, fingers twitching around it as if it isn't real. Slowly, his gaze lifts to stare at Ten, unmoved by his sheepish grin.

"Told you," Ten laughs uneasily.

"That," Kun sputters, looking down at the can. "That was just-"

"Luck?" Ten asks, curling his fingers, sealing the lid of the pizza box closed without much forethought.

Kun stares wide-eyed at the pizza box, then back at Ten, climbing his entire body up on the sofa.

"I told you," Ten holds out his hands defensively, slowly easing towards the sofa. "I'm a witch. Just— just try to stay calm about this and try not to freak out."

"Oh my God!" Kun yells, edging up on the arm of the couch as Ten draws closer. "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!"

"Kun, baby, you have to calm down," Ten stops at the opposite end of the couch, slowly easing onto it.

Kun seizes up, a garbled noise leaving his mouth as he flips over the side of the sofa, landing with a hard thud on the floor.

"Oh my God!" Ten crawls to the opposite end of the couch and peers over. "Baby, are you okay?"

Kun bolts upright, throwing as much distance between the two of them as possible, positioning himself behind one of his dining room chairs. " _ Baby _ ?!" he shouts, hysterical. "Did— you— You put a spell on me!?"

"Well," Ten clicks his tongue, "Technically yes. But, not a love spell! That was 100% on your own accord. You have to believe me!"

"No!" Kun points at him, dragging the chair along with him as he sidles against the wall. "I don't believe you! I don't believe anything you say!" He inches towards the hall, eyes hyperaware of Ten's every movement. "Now, you stay right there! I'm gonna call an exorcist or— " a desperate whine leaves his mouth, " — or my pastor."

Ten hears Kun making a phone call shortly after he scurries to his bedroom and hangs his head in frustration. 

Yeah, that's exactly what he expected.

"Shit!" Ten whispers to himself, sliding off the couch. "Shit! Shit!  _ Shit _ !"

He taps the box of pizza, snapping his fingers, and lets out a breath of relief when he reopens it to find the disgustingly horrid pizza whole once again. He shakes his own empty soda can until he tin expands, refilling and snapping closed, as untouched as it was once before. It takes little effort to reorganize the living room to its previous form— pillows in place, remote on the coffee table where Kun likes it, and television off and unplugged.

Ten scrambles towards the front door, pulling on his shoes and sighs, bracing himself against the entrance.

Honestly, how could he have expected this time to be any different?

_ "Release the past, let's start anew _

_ Forget the things that we once knew _

_ Memory fall distorted and blurred _

_ Forget the things seen and heard" _

Ten spreads his fingers wide, watching the incantation ripple in waves from his fingertips, enveloping the apartment in a hazy film that wanes after a few seconds. Kun's voice doesn't carry from the bedroom anymore. Ten closes his eyes and breathes out.

He opens the front door, slamming it closed. "Kun? Baby? I'm here!" He's in the middle of shucking his shoes off again when Kun pokes his head around the corner of the hallway, a smile growing wide and gentle. Just like before. Just like always.

"Hey," Kun says, stepping out into view, stumbling slightly from the disorientation but acclimated enough to meet Ten at the door. "What are you doing here?"

Ten pauses, shoe in hand. "It's our anniversary. Remember?"

Kun recoils his head, face scrunching up. "It is?"

"It is." Ten nods.

Kun tries to rack his brain but falls into a sheepish smile. "I must've forgotten. I'm sorry."

Ten swallows the bile easier than he does the guilt but nevertheless plasters a believable smile on his face. "Don't worry about it. No big deal." He relaxes in Kun's arms as Kun pulls him in for a tight hug, hands stroking over the arch of Ten's back affectionately. He places his soft lips atop Ten's, slowly kissing him like Ten's something to be treasured—worshiped and cherished. He kisses Ten like he always does— like he always has. With love. 

Kun pulls away with a small frown, smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Have you been smoking cigarettes or something?"

A scream boils in Ten's ears behind the forced smile.

He's going to murder Taeyong and Donghyuck.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What on earth are you eating?” Taeyong grimaces.
> 
> Donghyuck looks at the bag in his hands and then at Taeyong. With a smirk. “Gummy frogs.”

They say if you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you’ve always gotten. Taeyong likes to think of the forewarning quote as more of a guiding principle than a cautionary tale. A life of routine, down to the last possible task, has only brought him positive results and great successes. Why fix what isn’t broken?

Ten had argued before that Taeyong’s life is stagnant and Donghyuck had used the term “downright boring” but Taeyong doesn’t really mind. He has his process— a certain way of doing things, and if it works, it works. It may not be exciting or book-worthy, but it’s surefire, and there’s nothing he appreciates more than guaranteed predictability.

He has his morning schedule embedded in his brain, so flawlessly perfected that he often blinks awake seconds prior to his alarm sounding at seven a.m., promptly springing out of bed before the confines of heavy blankets and plush quilts can convince him to dawdle for a few minutes more.

Today is no different than any other. He rises before his alarm, pushes aside the comforter, and reaches for the light switch above his bedside table to illuminate the windowless room. The ground is cold as he pads towards the front of the room where the fluorescent-lit aquarium sits propped on an old wooden trunk. He kneels in front of the tank, pajama bottoms bunching up at the knees and a slow smile grows as he traces a finger lightly across the glass.

“How are my little babies doing this morning?” Taeyong coos as a few of the amphibians hop from beneath the stack of logs, emerging from between a thick forest of plants. One by one, frog after frog dives into the shallow end of the tank, swimming around in the filtered water and Taeyong lets out an amused laugh, lips curling with delight.

More frogs appear with each passing second, each one no different from the last yet fully distinguishable to Taeyong. The chorus of croaks lift from the tank and some of them attach themselves to the glass, belly side visible in greeting.

“So cute,” Taeyong mumbles, folding one arm across his stomach as he leans forward, index finger of his other hand moving across the glass to count.

“Hopscotch, Jelly, Tad,” he breathes, moving from frog to frog. “Houdini, Lily, Paco—”

Taeyong blinks.

He scoots closer to the tank, brows furrowing in focus as he counts again.

_Hopscotch, Jelly, Tad. Houdini, Lily, Paco—_

His eyes widen and he grips both sides of the tank. “No! No!”

The frogs scurry from Taeyong’s voice, burying themselves out of sight as Taeyong moves around the perimeter of the tank desperately hoping that he’s made a mistake that can be attributed to brain fog.

But there’s no mistake.

There are six frogs in the aquarium, and he had definitely fallen asleep to a total of 35.

Taeyong pushes off his knees and yanks his bedroom door open, storming down the hall, and following the animated sounds blasting from the living room. Donghyuck stretches across the sofa, one leg angling up towards the ceiling and the other tucking in between the cushions. His head props up against the couch’s arm as he mindlessly stares at some children’s cartoon on the television, volume set to the loudest setting. Even if Taeyong wanted to scream his head off, he doubts Donghyuck would actually hear him. But Taeyong knows Donghyuck can sense his presence in the living room when an unmissable smirk tugs at the corner of his lips and Donghyuck pulls his free hand out of the candy bag next to him, shoveling a heap of the sugary confection in his mouth.

Taeyong walks over to the coffee table and picks up the remote, turning down the television to a decent decibel before slamming the device back on the table. “Are you trying to get us noise complaints from our neighbors? It’s barely even 7:30.”

Donghyuck tosses Taeyong a lazy look and shrugs. “I’m a baby. I don’t know any better.”

Taeyong massages the vein pushing against his temple and comes to wedge himself in between Donghyuck and his vision of the television. “You’re _the_ baby. Not _a_ baby. So stop acting like one.”

Donghyuck frowns, looking up at Taeyong with an amount of defiance that Taeyong usually needs two cups of coffee minimum to combat. “What’s the difference?” Donghyuck asks, bringing his leg down and shoving his hand back into the bag. “Apparently they’re the same. If you’re gonna treat me like a baby, then I’m gonna act like a baby.” Donghyuck makes a move to reach around Taeyong for the remote, but Taeyong is quicker, smacking Donghyuck’s hand away and shoving the remote into the pockets of his pajama bottoms.

“Are you really still on this Johnny thing?” Taeyong huffs with a roll of his eyes. “Honestly?”

“Did you really think I would give up on it so easily?”

Taeyong tosses his head back and breathes out a relenting sigh, eyes shut tight with a silent meditation on his lips. When he looks back at Donghyuck— still staring back at him with disinterest, chewing the sickly green colored candies— Taeyong clicks his tongue and clasps his hands together.

“Look, I don’t have time to have this conversation with you again, Donghyuck,” he says. “I just need to know have you been in my room?”

And there it is again. That noticeable yet barely-there quirk of the lips that Donghyuck offers as he hums in thought. He wiggles his toes beneath the pattern socks on his feet and brings his index finger to the corner of his mouth, eyes reminiscent of a child’s innocence but tongue curling with corruption.

“Now why would _I_ go into _your_ room?” Donghyuck muses in a sing-song fashion, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

“Donghyuck, I’m not kidding. Have you been in my room or not?” Taeyong asks again firmly.

Donghyuck drops the facade, eyes narrowing, lips pushing out into a pout. “No,” he says, sticky hands placing another gummy on his tongue. “I haven’t been in your stupid room.”

“Well someone has,” Taeyong places his hands on his hips. “And Ten hasn’t come home from Kun’s yet so that only leaves you.”

Donghyuck lets out an exaggerated groan that propels him upright, feet falling to the floor and arms folding tight across his chest. “I just said no, didn’t I?”

There’s something about the answer that unnerves Taeyong. Maybe it’s the way Donghyuck is insistent— albeit a bit _too_ insistent, almost to the point of persuasion. Or it could be something as simple as how uncomfortable Taeyong feels watching the brat chew the neon green candies with his mouth open, teeth tearing through lime-flavored jelly until there’s nothing but colored sugar coating Donghyuck’s tongue. Taeyong’s never been one to shy away from desserts or sweets in general, but watching Donghyuck eat with so much recklessness, with so much unconcern for manners, sends Taeyong’s stomach turning.

“What on earth are you eating?” Taeyong grimaces.

Donghyuck looks at the bag in his hands and then at Taeyong. With a smirk. “Gummy frogs.”

“At seven in the morning?” Taeyong asks. “For someone that doesn’t want to be treated like a child you sure have no problem acting like one.”

“What can I say?” Donghyuck pulls out a frog-shaped gummy between his index and middle finger, inspecting it slowly. “These were too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

He turns the candy in his hand long enough for Taeyong to notice something that’s immediately gripping his attention. The frog candy is oddly shaped— oddly familiar— with a detailed design on its back of speckled spots in the shape of— 

Taeyong gasps.

Before he can utter a single word, Donghyuck grins and pops the frog candy into his mouth making sure to make a huge display of sinking his teeth down into the back of the small frog, ripping it to shreds.

“Wart!” Taeyong shrieks, gripping the matted strands of his hair. He draws his eyes to the half-empty bag in Donghyuck’s hand. “Did you turn my frogs into candy and then eat them?!”

“Of course not,” Donghyuck says, voice thick with an obvious patronizing tone. “Why on earth would I do something like that?” Another frog gummy goes into his mouth.

Taeyong aims a pointed finger at Donghyuck’s mouth, a purple aura surrounding the perimeter of his lips, gluing them shut no matter how hard Donghyuck tries to pry them apart. Donghyuck’s eyes grow wide, a muffled sound desperate behind sealed lips as Taeyong steps closer and pries his mouth open with his own enchanted fingers. Taeyong hooks both index fingers into Donghyuck’s mouth, stretches it open wide, and gasps as a small frog hops its way out of Donghyuck’s mouth and onto Taeyong’s person.

Taeyong releases Donghyuck from his grip to cup the frog in his hands, ignoring the wheezing noise emitting from Donghyuck as he doubles over from the spell wearing off. Wart cowers in the center of Taeyong’s soft hands, trembling in fear between panicky croaks. Taeyong zeros in on Donghyuck.

“You ate my _fucking_ frogs?! I’m going to kill you!”

Donghyuck yelps, scrambling off the couch before Taeyong has a chance to pounce on him, sliding around the opposite side of the coffee table. Taeyong moves to the other side of the table, shifting to the left only for Donghyuck to move right and shifting right when Donghyuck moves left. He clenches his jaw, setting Wart on the tabletop before poofing him back to the tank in his bedroom. He leans forward, braces his hands on the table’s surface, and sucks his teeth.

“Donghyuck, come here.”

Donghyuck stays stock still to his side of the living room, stance equally prepared to dive either way. “Hell no.”

“If I have to make you come to me, you’re going to make things much worse for you.”

“There’s a 50/50 chance of that happening already.”

Taeyong hangs his head low between his shoulders and breathes out a calming breath. Donghyuck has little time to prepare or process what’s happening before it happens— Taeyong moving as quickly as the gust of cold air surging from the ceiling vents. He sprints across the coffee table when Donghyuck’s guard is down, toppling both of them onto the ground, locking both arms and legs around Donghyuck.

Donghyuck lets out a pained yelp, one that’s undoubtedly loud enough to be heard in the surrounding neighbors’ apartment. Taeyong covers his mouth with his bare hand and hoists the both of them up, resistant to Donghyuck’s feeble attempts to break free. He cringes at Donghyuck’s tongue swiping across the palm of his hand and groans at a few successful jabs to the gut, but nothing stops him from hauling them both into the bathroom, pushing Donghyuck to his knees in front of the toilet bowl.

“Alright, you little brat,” Taeyong hooks both index fingers in either side of Donghyuck’s mouth again and pushes him forward over the bowl. “Spit them out. Now!”

Donghyuck gags and darts his tongue out, choking out a dramatic gasp as he brings his own hands atop Taeyong’s. He shuts his eyes so tight that the faint outlines of bluish-green veins spread across the thin skin of his eyelids but Taeyong drives his fingers in deeper— presses his knee harder into Donghyuck’s back until Donghyuck whines into the porcelain bowl. Taeyong doesn’t let up. Only the toilet offers Donghyuck sympathy, returning the echoing sentiment each time Donghyuck groans, swears, _cries_ into the vessel.

Taeyong barely notices the bathroom door creak open slowly, too busy lacing his hands in purple and brown strands, tugging with little restraint as Donghyuck cries for mercy. It’s Ten’s unvexed expression in the mirror that alerts Taeyong to the new presence in the room. Ten doesn’t say a word— he hardly moves an inch, bracing himself against the door’s threshold, overnight bag still hanging over his shoulder. He trails his eyes down towards Donghyuck’s kneeling position and twists his mouth, the question already forming on his tongue before Taeyong can stare at him full-on.

“What are you two doing?”

Taeyong blows a strand of hair off his damp forehead and huffs. “An oral cavity search.”

Ten raises a brow and the curiosity piques as Donghyuck mumbles something unintelligible around Taeyong’s fingers. Ten nods, seemingly uninterested in decoding the jabber, and looks down at the bag of half-eaten gummies in his own hands. “That would explain the bag of candy on the couch and the frogs jumping around between the cushions.” He angles the bag up, hands closing around the opening until his thumb touches his index finger. “Should I put these back in the tank then?”

“Would you?” Taeyong breathes out.

Donghyuck’s eyes balloon when Ten shoots him another silent look before disappearing into the living room to retrieve the rogue frogs. He feels Taeyong crook his fingers in his mouth again, hands driving his face back into the commode.

_“Cemented lips form a pout_

_Open up and spit it out,”_

Without forewarning, Taeyong’s index finger glows, a violet miasma concentrating around the tip, and he inches the digit deeper and deeper into Donghyuck’s mouth— so deep that his nail scrapes Donghyuck’s uvula and Donghyuck retches, intestines contracting. Taeyong swiftly removes his hand from Donghyuck’s mouth and pushes aside as Donghyuck grips both sides of the toilet bowl, spitting out heaps of frog-shaped gummies, fully formed, sans teeth bites and marks. As soon as the jellies hit the water, a reverberating _ribbit-ribbit_ sounds, and soon follows a chorus of distressed croaks, webbed feet desperately crawling up the side of the bowl and sliding back into the shallow pool of water seconds later.

Taeyong’s eyes sweep over the frogs in a silent count and then he looks at Donghyuck—when he’s beyond the point of retching— lips pulling into a scowl. “I can’t believe you ate my frogs over some guy,” he bunches the sleeves of his pajama top to his forearms. “You’re a sociopath, you know that?”

“Yeah well,” Donghyuck pushes off the ground and opens his mouth wide, flexing his jaw until the tension and pain ebb away. “You should be so lucky that’s _all_ I did.”

Taeyong’s mouth drops open, head swiveling as Donghyuck exits the bathroom without another word. As if he hadn’t just committed the highest level of crime in Taeyong’s book. As if he hadn’t just vomited fifteen some odd frogs into their bathroom toilet. After a while, Taeyong hears the television roar back to life in the living room, the random _boing!_ and _splat!_ dying behind the carefree lilt of Donghyuck’s laugh.

Taeyong closes his eyes and exhales slowly, holding himself. “Solana give me strength.”

* * *

“I’m not exaggerating when I say we have to do something about Donghyuck,” Taeyong says, stepping into Ten’s bedroom, dragging a towel over his wet hands. “He has way too much—” Taeyong stops mid-sentence, steps slowing to a halt on the plush fur rug.

He expects Ten to be doing something of the usual— rummaging through his various drawers and bins for some obscure piece of clothing to wear for class, switching out his dangling earrings and studs for other sterling silver pieces, or even painting his nails some arcane shade of black ( _Liquid Leather_ being the latest obsession) — but what he doesn’t expect is Ten burying himself behind the veil of his white canopy, deep between layers of ivory sheets. The dark strands of his hair stick out amongst all the white in the monochromatic room, hardly hidden against the pillows, falling every which way he chooses to turn.

Taeyong sets the soiled towel on the dresser and moves to sit on the edge of the bed. He draws the comforter down enough to see Ten’s eyes, heavy with smeared eyeliner and hooded with dark circles that aren’t as easy to remove with the swipe of a makeup wipe.

“How was the anniversary?” Taeyong asks. He keeps his voice light and airy— noncommittal— in case it's a loaded question bound to set off a trigger, but Ten’s eyes stare back with an emotion more akin to exhaustion than fury. Ten looks _exhausted_.

“Fine,” Ten responds after a second. “For the small amount of it that Kun could actually remember.” He sits up, blankets pooling to his waist, and pushes the palms of his hands into his tired eyes. “Why do I keep trying to tell him? I should just leave well enough alone.”

Silence.

Ten whips his head up to frown at Taeyong, hands falling to his sides. “This is where you say, ‘No Ten, you can’t give up on the one you love.’”

Taeyong scoffs. “Is _that_ what you think I’m supposed to say?”

“You know,” Ten clicks his tongue. “I’m starting to see why Donghyuck ate your frogs.” He falls back onto the mound of pillows, a couple of stray goose feathers floating out. He pulls the covers back over his face and lets out a miserable groan when Taeyong drags them back down.

“You know I’m not one to say I told you so—”

Ten snorts.

“ _But_ ,” Taeyong continues with a shove to Ten’s shoulder, “I told you to leave well enough alone. It’s one thing if you can’t see how ridiculous it is to involve humans in our world but at the very least you have to accept that Kun just isn’t ready to handle all of this,” he gestures around the room at the various charms spread out on the bureau, the spell books stacked inside the storage ottoman at the foot of the bed, and the jars of sun water fermenting on the window seat. “Why can’t you just enjoy what you two have now?”

“Because,” Ten drops his hands against the mattress, “I care enough to make his world a part of my life.” The pout is barely there as Ten inspects each bulb of spackled paint on the popcorn ceiling, but Taeyong sees it— the rounding of lips and furrowing of brows. He sees Ten search his mind for something, and when his brows lift, Taeyong knows he’s found it. Ten holds on to the thought tentatively, like he’s contemplating dipping his toe into cold water, into an unknown that he’s unsure he can turn back from. He hesitates like the words on the tip of his tongue can’t be recaptured if he lets them out to breathe, almost as if breathing them into existence will make them all too real and all too true. As if saying them means confronting them. But with a heavy breath, he eventually relents, mumbling quietly under his breath. “I just want him to be a part of my world too.”

And Taeyong shifts from his own discomfort, not knowing what to say or do because— well— it’s not like he’s ever been in the same predicament before. He can’t relate nor can he exactly sympathize with the sentiment, but he can _empathize_ on the basis that Ten is his best friend. Ten’s pleasure is Taeyong’s pleasure and Ten’s pain is Taeyong’s pain. Ten’s hurt shows the same shade of red on Taeyong’s own skin, and his pride bruises the same hue of blue.

“He’ll come around,” Taeyong says and for once he doesn’t debate whether or not he believes his own words. “Just give him some time.” He slides to lay next to Ten and locks his fingers together as he stares at the ceiling. A smirk finds its way to his lips and he adds, “And maybe give his brain a break from all of the memory-erasing.”

Ten groans, dragging a pillow from behind his head to cover his face. “He couldn’t even remember it was our anniversary and at least three times throughout the night he forgot my name.”

Taeyong laughs so hard that his stomach contracts and he turns on his side, bracing his arms around his abdomen. Ten shoots him an unamused side-eye but eventually smiles, tongue wedging between his teeth.

“I can’t believe Donghyuck snuck in your room and turned your frogs into candy.”

The laugh stops short in Taeyong’s throat, finding its way into Ten’s mouth as Ten stifles a snicker.

“That’s not funny,” Taeyong blinks. “Donghyuck’s behavior is becoming disturbing and _you_ —” Taeyong jabs a finger into Ten’s cheek, “ — shouldn’t encourage him.”

“He’s just going through his teenage rebellion stage a little late,” Ten hums. “Everyone has one.”

“I never had one!”

“And that’s why you are the way you are now.”

“And how _exactly_ am I?”

Ten gives Taeyong a once over, lips parting but falling shut with a puff of air. It’s probably nothing Taeyong hasn’t heard before. _On edge. High strung. Overambitious. Annoying._ Ten could hurl any of the words towards him and Taeyong wouldn’t blink an eye. Some people say on edge, he says observant. Some people say high strung, he says persistent and efficient. Since when is it a bad thing to be over-ambitious and law-abiding? Since when is it a bad thing to have high standards?

But Ten simply laughs and rubs a soothing hand on Taeyong’s shoulder with a coo. “Oh sweetheart, you’ll find out with time.”

* * *

_No Doze_ isn’t anywhere near as busy as it normally is. The small campus coffee shop located on the lower level of the Business Leadership Building is normally so loud from coffee beans turning in the grinder and exhausted baristas calling out the names of even more exhausted students, but today the number of patrons is few and far between. A couple of students linger at tables pressed against the floor to ceiling windows, hunching over their laptops while downing a cup of medium roast, tons of cream, and sweet white foam on top. On any other day, Donghyuck would be one of them, desperately scrambling to complete his American Literature assignments last minute while guzzling iced Americanos as fast as the barista could make them. But his anxiety today is anything but caffeine-induced when Taeyong bounces in front of him, eying the menu for what seems like an eternity, much to his and the barista’s annoyance.

“Hyung,” Donghyuck shoves his hands in the pocket of his bomber jacket. “It’s not that hard. Pick a coffee or pick a tea, but you have to pick _something_.” The barista taps her fingers on the countertop. A silent agreement.

“When you get to the counter you can take as little time as you’d like,” Taeyong says, still reading the scribbled chalk handwriting on the menu. “But I want to weigh my options.”

“I’ll never _get_ to the counter if you don’t choose something,” Donghyuck retorts.

The barista blows a breath and forces an ingenuine smile to the forefront. “Why don’t I give you a couple more minutes,” she suggests, turning half-way to make a dash away from the register when Taeyong stops her, causing her to face forward again.

“That won’t be necessary,” Taeyong makes eye contact with a genuine yet incognizant grin of his own. “I’ll have one large mocha. Extra chocolate. Extra steamed milk.”

Donghyuck’s head falls back against his shoulders, eyes snapping closed with a heavy sigh and when he reopens them, the barista is mirroring his frustration, shoulders tensing beneath the uniform smock.

“Like I told you the _last time_ you were here sir,” the barista says with a tight smile, “We don’t have _larges_. You mean a Venti.”

Taeyong pushes his brows together and folds his arms. “Why would I mean a _venti_ when that means twenty. A large is 32 ounces. Technically a grande should be large— it’s Spanish for large— but you’re only offering 16 ounces of that.”

“Taeyong,” Donghyuck begs. “ _Please_.”

The barista glares now, arms crossing over her chest, a loud _thwick_ resounding as she sucks her teeth and parks her tongue in her cheek. “Do you want to order or not?”

“Well I’m trying to but you’re not really trying to help me,” Taeyong shrugs, brings his bag to his front, and unzips it. He pulls out a black porcelain mug and hands it over to the barista. “Forget the sizes, just put it in here.”

The barista stares at the cup without taking it, even upon Taeyong’s silent insistence. “We can’t do that sir.”

Donghyuck steps in front of Taeyong and slides his credit card towards the barista. “He’ll take a Venti and I’ll have a Venti Iced Americano.” The barista takes the card wordlessly, despite Taeyong’s sputtering protests, and swipes it in the card reader before heading to the machines. Donghyuck slips the card back in his wallet and shoots Taeyong a disbelieving look. “Do you have to do that?”

“Do what?” Taeyong puts the mug back in his backpack.

“Make everyone concede to whatever you want,” Donghyuck motions with his hand. “You’re bringing your mugs with you because you don’t think the coffee house’s sizes are good enough, we had to walk here because you wanted the campus bus driver to admit that he was five minutes late— never mind the fact that your arguing held him up _another_ five minutes— and you won’t even let me date someone just because _you_ think Johnny is a bad person.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes and steps aside to allow the students behind them to order. “I do not need people to concede to me,” he says, moving to an empty table for two nearby and pulling out a chair. “If this realm is going to insist on living by and following rules, then I’m going to point out their obvious incompetency.” He sets his bag on the ground and pauses. “And as for Johnny, I just plain don’t like him.”

“See!” Donghyuck pulls out his own chair and plops down, bracing his elbow on the table. “ _You_ don’t like Johnny so I can’t date Mark. _You_ have to point out everyone’s shortcomings. Who died and put _you_ in charge?”

Taeyong smirks. “Irene did actually. You remember. You were there.”

“It was a _literal_ question,” Donghyuck enunciates slowly.

“You mean _rhetorical_ ,” Taeyong corrects and shrugs off his cardigan to drape over the back of his chair. “Of course if you focused more on your homework and studies and less on Mark, you’d probably know that.”

Taeyong digs out his own laptop and some textbook that Donghyuck cares next to nothing about. Donghyuck’s sure Taeyong thinks the conversation has once again reached a dead end, in fact, he pulls out his earphones, unwinding them around his hands with plans of tuning Donghyuck and the conversation out completely. But Donghyuck is far from done, choosing to untuck the final trick from under his sleeve. He leans back in his chair and watches Taeyong adjust his beanie to place an earbud in one ear.

“This was a mistake.”

Taeyong casts his eyes up from his laptop booting up, the second earbud inches away from his left ear. “What was?”

Donghyuck looks off, and stares unblinkingly, hoping and praying that he still remembers how to cry on cue. “Coming here. I should’ve stayed in Solana.” It’s when Taeyong stays rooted in place that Donghyuck knows he’s got him, suppressing the smirk that threatens to spill over. “I thought life would be fun here with you and Ten hyung, but it’s just a bunch of rules,” he pouts and breathes relief when tears prickle his eyes, stinging so intensely that he has to close them through the slight burn. When he reopens them, Taeyong’s own eyes are round and puppy-like, bottom lip jutting out as if he’s the one near tears.

“Wait what?” Taeyong reaches across the table to touch a hand atop Donghyuck’s hand. “You really mean that?”

Donghyuck shrugs. “If I knew it would’ve been this miserable I would’ve stayed. But you said we’d have fun, hyung. But I’m not having fun. Ten gets to have a friend— a _boyfriend_ — I want to spend time with someone too.”

Taeyong sighs. And Donghyuck _knows_.

He’s won.

“Fine,” Taeyong relents with a wave of his hand. “If you really like this guy—” a deep exhale, “ — go for it. Just don’t expect me to like it. Or to be nice to Suh. And don’t expect me not to say I told you so when he turns out to be just as much of a jerk as his friend.”

“I will take that as a proper well-wishing towards our relationship,” Donghyuck beams, chair scraping against the tile as he launches himself over to hug Taeyong.

Taeyong groans, half-leaning away from the hug but still patting Donghyuck’s back with an affectionate touch that’s well-meaning. He pushes up from his chair and straightens his shirt. “I’m going to ignore how you obviously just emotionally manipulated me and go to the bathroom, you sociopath.”

Donghyuck retakes his seat once Taeyong leaves and lets the smile stretch from ear to ear. What happens within the next five minutes becomes a blur— he doesn’t really register the barista setting their drinks on the table or the patrons coming and going. It’s hard to pull him away from the thought monopolizing every space and gap in his brain.

Mark Lee.

Mark Lee.

Mark Lee.

Sure there are reasons to worry. Ten had gotten lucky, landing a catch like Kun on the first attempt without having to go through the mundane and strange route of dating apps or personal ads. For others, a love life didn’t come as easy and Donghyuck wouldn’t be an exception. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t expected to kiss a few frogs before finding his prince. Granted, he hadn’t expected that he would have to _eat_ fifteen of them. 

He hums, head lolling to the side. For Mark Lee, he would eat twenty more.

“What’s got you so happy?”

Donghyuck cranes his head up and straightens in surprise. “Johnny!” His eyes trail towards Taeyong’s drink, chocolate mixing in with the dissolving froth and his eyes widen. “ _Johnny_!”

Johnny chuckles and arches a brow, shrugging his laptop bag off his shoulder. “That’s my name.” His expression shifts towards a frown, concern lacing his features. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Donghyuck looks towards the bathrooms and then back at him. “The caffeine— makes me...antsy, you know?” As if on cue, he grabs the Iced Americano and pushes the straw inside the cup, sucking down a huge gulp of the too bitter liquid. He winces as the taste spreads across his tongue before looking back at Johnny. “What brings you here?”

Johnny looks around the shop with an obvious grin that answers the question itself. _Coffee, Donghyuck. Coffee._

“Right,” Donghyuck sighs. “Well, I bet you have to get going now.”

Johnny pauses. “Are you trying to get rid of me?” _Yes._

“What?” Donghyuck laughs, visibly flinching when a student walks out of the men’s restroom. “No, no of course not. You’re busy— _I’m busy_ , and I figured you should be on your way to your next class. Those grades won’t make themselves.” Donghyuck shoots up from his seat and pushes against Johnny’s bicep, a frustrated groan slipping out when Johnny doesn’t budge an inch.

“I haven’t even gotten my coffee yet,” Johnny smiles. Amused. “Are you sure you’re not trying to get rid of me?”

“Positive!” Donghyuck grits out with another push.

Johnny shifts a little and maybe it’s only to appease Donghyuck’s struggle, but Donghyuck appreciates the pity points if it moves Johnny closer to the exit. Unfortunately, the sympathy doesn’t extend any further because instead of moving further away from the soon-to-be crime scene, Johnny glances about the table, zeroing in on the extra cup of coffee and cardigan draped over Taeyong’s chair.

“Oh I get it,” Johnny smirks, turning to look at Donghyuck. “You’re on a date.”

“What— I’m not—” Donghyuck pauses, “Yes— I’m on a date and he’s extremely skittish. Doesn’t like people. He’s practically a recluse. So you should make yourself disappear before I lose him to the mole people again.” He tries his best to cement his boots against the tile floor this time when he pushes but the soles lose grip with little resistance.

“So you and a recluse are having a date in a _public_ coffee shop?”

“Ironic isn’t it?”

Johnny sighs with a smile and pulls a chair away from a nearby table. “I’ll leave,” he says, sitting in the chair and scooting towards the table. “But I think I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t size this guy up first.”

Isn’t it enough that Donghyuck went through tooth and nail to get Taeyong to agree to the idea of Mark Lee? Why is the universe punishing him? In the back of his mind is the very fleeting thought that the universe has its way of catching up to ne’er do wells. Donghyuck isn’t so deluded that he doesn’t know his own selfish tendencies. He’s manipulative, spoiled, and a little bit self-absorbed but by human standards, he fits right in. Sure he’s been underhanded— there’s a bunch of things that neither Ten nor Taeyong know about that he’s done— but that doesn’t mean life should be so unfair to dangle the finish line in front of him when he’s already weary and dehydrated, just to drag it back a few feet further. Dangling Johnny Suh in front of an already feral Taeyong would drag Donghyuck’s hard work through the dirt.

“Friends?” Donghyuck snorts. “We had one class together. That hardly constitutes friendship. Do you even know my last name?”

“Lee.”

Well, he’s got him there.

Donghyuck looks towards the bathrooms again and gasps when Taeyong comes out this time, lips twisting in a pout, dabbing at a wet spot on his shirt. Donghyuck wedges himself in front of Johnny’s field of view, eyes darting around the coffee shop and thanking every being of fate and destiny when the barista sets Johnny’s drink at the edge of the counter and calls his name.

“Fine,” Donghyuck gestures towards Johnny’s order. “You go get your drink and you can come back and sit with us.” This time when he pushes, Johnny gives in easily.

When Johnny’s far enough away and Taeyong’s still weaving through the maze of jumbled tables and chairs, Donghyuck reaches in the pocket of his jacket and pulls out the tiny pink polyester satchel, untying the golden ribbons keeping the contents sealed inside. The pungent sulfurous smell lifts into the air immediately making for a less than pleasing combination with the acrid aroma of charred coffee beans, but Donghyuck pours a heaping amount of the black salt into Taeyong’s coffee, quickly picking up the spoon and stirring the coarse rocks until they dissolve in the foam. 

He’s no expert at magic— but he’s more than capable of pulling off novice level spells. Using black salt to absorb negative energy by definition is a level five spell but he’s just as good, if not better, than the level fives back home. He reads on a collegiate level and the intention is there— so there’s really nothing to it. It had been hard enough to explain to Taeyong how he could eat an entire carton of eggs within two days just to hoard enough eggshells for the recipe and swiping multiple sticks of Ten’s kohl pencils just to grind them down to charcoal powder had been a risk of life or death. There’s no way he’s _not_ going to use the salt.

“ _Keep negative energy at bay if you have nothing nice to say_ ,” Donghyuck chants quietly, stirring the mocha until the last of the whipped cream dissolves leaving the brown liquid bubbling, a large bubble forming as smaller ones meld together until it pops, the residual liquid settling back into the mug.

“What are you doing Donghyuck?” Taeyong pulls his chair out and slumps in it, eyes training on Donghyuck as the latter drops the spoon, red-handed.

“Nothing!” Donghyuck pipes up defensively, clearing his throat when Taeyong eyes him suspiciously. “I mean, I was just stirring your cream for you, hyung.” He pushes the mug on the saucer towards Taeyong who eyes the coffee.

“You know I like to eat the whipped cream,” Taeyong pouts. He picks up the discarded spoon and gives the coffee another final stir, dropping the spoon and bringing the cup to his lips. Donghyuck edges on the balls of his feet, shoulders dropping when Taeyong pauses before taking a sip. “Whose seat is that?” Taeyong nods towards the extra seat.

“I’ll tell you after you take a sip.”

“Donghyuck.” Taeyong uses _that_ voice.

“What?” Donghyuck whines, bouncing insufferably like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “You made such a big deal over that stupid coffee. The least you can do is drink it before it gets cold and gross.”

“You’re drinking _iced_ coffee,” Taeyong frowns but shakes the thought away, taking a sip of the coffee. “Mine will be fine.”

Donghyuck waits— maybe for some bad reaction or for Taeyong to recoil from a distinctive taste (assuming Donghyuck made it wrong) — but Taeyong licks his lips and sets the cup back on the saucer with a pleasant sigh. Donghyuck glances over his shoulder and makes a noise when he notices Johnny heading back over. He turns back to Taeyong flipping open his textbook and inhales a large breath before rushing the words out.

“The extra seat belongs to Johnny. He’s gonna join us and he’s heading this way so be nice!”

“What?!” Taeyong hisses. 

Donghyuck winces when Taeyong opens his mouth to unleash what would have probably been a stream of swears, threats, maybe even a vow of disownment, but Taeyong’s lips seal shut before the words are spoken into existence, sticking firmly together. Taeyong screams, words muffling against his mouth and arms threatening Donghyuck with vague gestures but Donghyuck only smiles, sinking back into his own seat.

“I’m sorry Tae,” Donghyuck says with honest sincerity. “But I can’t have you messing things up.” He reaches for his iced coffee and takes a sip before adding, “And consider this payback from earlier.”

“Mmm!” _I’m going to kill you._

“Yeahhhh,” Donghyuck drags out. “I’m aware of that. And I’m willing to take that risk.”

Johnny arrives, hands around a steaming paper to-go cup, stopping a few inches shy of his seat when Taeyong tosses him a glare strong enough to turn man into stone. Donghyuck thinks his gaze may be just as lethal and sharp as his tongue.

“Johnny, this is Taeyong, but I’m sure you already know that. He just _loves_ to talk about you.” The table shifts as Taeyong launches the toe of his sneaker against Donghyuck’s shin, earning himself an equally agitated scowl.

“You’re dating Lee?” Johnny points at Taeyong slowly, as if trying to process the information.

“Oh _God_ no,” Donghyuck laughs until a thought crosses his mind. “Seriously. I’m not dating him. It’s very important that you _and your friends_ know that.”

Johnny tilts his head to the side and purses his lips. “Wait a minute,” his finger moves to Taeyong, “Lee and—” the same finger lands on Donghyuck, “ —Lee. Are you two related?”

Donghyuck ignores the roll of Taeyong’s eyes. He can hear Taeyong’s sarcastic voice in his head — _“Yes because everyone with the last name Lee MUST be related.”_ — but he bats it away, shrugging vaguely. “I guess you could say we’re related. Taeyong hyung and Ten are like older brothers to me.”

Johnny nods slowly, eyes falling to Taeyong again, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “That explains a lot and very little at the same time.”

Taeyong snorts, hot air blowing in short puffs from his nostrils.

“You and Ten are so laid-back, you know? And Lee’s…” Johnny trails off, tongue in cheek when he smiles back at Taeyong. “Well, every family has a black sheep.”

Taeyong narrows his eyes.

Taeyong’s untouched mocha starts to bubble again, the temperature rapidly increasing as the porcelain cup rocks back and forth on the saucer.

“Johnny!” Donghyuck exclaims, placing both hands on Johnny’s shoulder. “You’ll have to excuse us. Taeyong’s not feeling too well you know— laryngitis—” he offers a fake cough for emphasis and Johnny recoils. “Anyway, we wouldn’t want you to get sick. Poor Taeyong lost his voice...recently… and he’s still having a hard time coming to terms with it.”

Donghyuck pretends not to see Taeyong’s left eye twitch.

“As much as I would love to revel in Lee forcibly reduced to a vow of silence, I have an important presentation coming up and I can’t afford to lose this golden throat.” Johnny pushes the third chair to the table and pats a hand on Taeyong’s shoulder. Donghyuck notices Taeyong tense up, head recoiling away as Johnny squats down to eye length, still far enough away under the pretense of Taeyong’s “illness”. “Get well soon, Lee,” he says. “And remember, everything happens for a reason. Consider losing your voice a blessing in disguise.”

Surprisingly, Taeyong doesn’t fall into a flailing fit as Donghyuck expects. There are no swinging limbs, perfectly aimed kicks— there’s no movement at all. Taeyong just sits perfectly still, even after Johnny pushes through the glass doors of the Business Leadership Building, disappearing out of sight. Taeyong slowly turns his head to stare at Donghyuck, nails digging into the wooden arms of his chair, tongue poking into cheek. A pantomimist couldn’t make the gesture any clearer.

_Release the spell._

“Before I let you speak, know that this was for your own good,” Donghyuck drums his fingers on the sticky table.

Taeyong stomps his foot. _Now._

“And you have to promise not to kill me because I don’t know any better.”

The plastic lid pops off Donghyuck’s cup and he frantically catches before it can touch the ground. “Okay, okay,” he shoots a look towards Taeyong. “I’ll take the spell off.” He exhales a shaky breath, eyes darting around before aiming his index finger towards Taeyong.

_“Into this smoke, I release thee.”_

A black cloud of smoke emerges when Taeyong gasps out, the faint remnants of Donghyuck’s aura curling in wisps around Taeyong’s face until he bats it away with a wave of his hands. Donghyuck pushes out of his chair when Taeyong finally focuses on him and slings his backpack over his shoulder, preparing for a desperate escape but surprisingly, Taeyong scoots closer to the table and flips the page of his textbook.

“Aren’t you gonna hit me?” Donghyuck asks, hands lingering on the back of his own chair. “Yell at me? Curse at me? _Something_ ? _Anything_?”

Taeyong buries his face further in the textbook with a contemplative click of his tongue. “Oh I am,” he says, finger falling to trace a highlighted paragraph. “But doing it now would be letting you off easy. I’m going to wait until you least expect it— gradually taking my frustrations out on you over time.” Taeyong digs through his backpack and pulls out a blue highlighter, striking out a sentence.

Donghyuck eases closer to the chair, standing behind it just in case. “I’d much rather you get it over with now.”

“Sit down, Donghyuck.”

Taeyong is deeply engrossed in whatever book he’s studying, enough to where Donghyuck believes his reassurance isn’t a well-concealed ploy for revenge. He slowly slides back into his seat, watching Taeyong’s every move, every twitch of his lip, every arch in his brow. Taeyong hardly pays him any mind as he continues to annotate the textbook and after ten minutes— Donghyuck had nearly toppled out of his chair when Taeyong jerked suddenly to sneeze— Donghyuck settles, shoulders sagging against the back of the chair.

“I hope all of this is worth it,” Taeyong suddenly says, eyes traveling to the computer screen. He twists his lips and Donghyuck isn’t sure if he’s engrossed in what he’s reading or contemplating the thought. “For your sake, I really hope you have better luck than Ten is having right now. But if Ten’s relationship with Kun isn’t enough to dissuade you, then nothing will.”

Donghyuck frowns. “Why do you have to be so damn cynical?”

“I’m not,” Taeyong purses his lips together and glances at Donghyuck. “I’m being _reasonable_. And whether you want to accept it or not,” he pauses and then closes the laptop. “Whether you want to accept it or not, I care about you Donghyuck. You really are a little brother to me and I don’t want you to get hurt by someone that’s not worth your tears, or worse— your rage.”

Donghyuck’s lips curl into a fond smile and he rests a hand on top of Taeyong’s. “Aw, you care about me.” The grin grows wider. “Does that mean you aren’t upset about the spell?”

Taeyong slides his hand from under Donghyuck’s and reopens the laptop. “Absolutely not.” He peeks at Donghyuck and then back at the screen. “But deep, deep down— _way down_ — I hope it works out for you. I really do.”

“It will,” Donghyuck says, self-assured. “We’re perfect for each other.”

Taeyong eyes the entrance over Donghyuck’s shoulder. “He’s the guy that’s on all the basketball team posters around campus, right?”

Donghyuck sits up straight. “Yeah…”

“Well, here comes your man.”

Donghyuck almost breaks his neck, whipping his head around towards the entrance as his eyes land on the man clad in a university hoodie and sweats, glasses barely balancing on the bridge of his nose. Mark claps hands with a few guys on their way out of the cafe, barely lingering for idle conversation as he approaches the forming line in front of the ordering counter. He slings his backpack on one shoulder and pockets the cellphone in his hand, eyes squinting to read the handwritten menu.

Donghyuck turns back around, eyes focusing on the tabletop and silently cursing as he feels the heat creep up the back of his neck. His reflection in Taeyong’s spoon looks as disheveled as he feels, skin stippling with tinges of pink across the apples of his cheek, deepening at the tip of his nose.

“Well,” Taeyong says and the heat of his stare makes Donghyuck’s face grow warmer. “This is your moment. Aren’t you going to go say hi to him?”

Donghyuck fidgets with whatever his fingers can reach— the salt shaker, packets of sugar substitutes, the straw in his near-empty cup and forces a slight shake of his head. “No.”

Taeyong raises a brow. “And why not. You’ve been begging for this for all of two days.”

And Donghyuck realizes that there’s no right way to break the news, not after all the fire and brimstone he’s caused. So he braces himself, hands dropping to his lap, legs crossing at the ankles, teeth against tongue.

“I kind of haven't talked to him yet.”

“What do you mean _kind of_?”

“As in, not at all,” Donghyuck admits. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know I even exist.”

It starts as a shake. Taeyong’s body quivers from something building inside him— something building from the pit of his chest coursing through his veins, rumbling up his esophagus. The laugh slips out like the first few drops of a newly sprung leak. It comes out as a slow trickle at first, but soon Taeyong’s rolling his eyes towards the ceiling with a guffaw that’s unrestrained and uncontrollable. Donghyuck bites his lip when the laugh doesn’t stop after seconds, spilling past Taeyong’s lips like a waterfall.

“Donghyuck,” Taeyong wipes a tear from the brink of his eyes. “You _better_ get over there.”

“Hyung, I’m being serious!”

“So am I,” Taeyong frowns suddenly. “You made this huge ordeal and you haven’t even _talked_ to the guy? I thought Ten said you talked to him for over thirty minutes the other day in class?”

“Well,” Donghyuck plays with his fingers. “I may have exaggerated a bit.”

“How much?”

Donghyuck clicks his tongue. “It was more like, he talked to his friends and I eavesdropped.”

Taeyong sucks his teeth. “You’re going over there.”

“But—”

“No ‘buts’. No excuses. I had to stuff my fingers down your damn, _disgusting_ throat this morning— you’re going over there _and_ you’re bringing me a new coffee or else you won’t have to worry about studying for your Lit class. I’m sure you’ll be able to get all the help you want from Dickinson and Hemingway— _from beyond the grave_ .” Taeyong pushes his half-drunk coffee towards Donghyuck and nods towards the counter.  
  


Donghyuck looks over his shoulder, a whine dying in his throat watching Mark patiently waiting for his turn to order, and at Taeyong’s foot kicking his leg, he pushes up from the table and tosses Taeyong’s ruined coffee in a nearby trash can.

Put Donghyuck in front of anyone and he naturally melds. He’s capable of fitting in with any social group, blending in effortlessly within minutes of small talk or deep conversations. The one thing the Earth realm has to offer that Solana doesn’t is variety— an assortment of people ranging in shape, size— personality. Everyone in Solana is relatively perfect. There’s little to challenge. With everyone so flawless, Donghyuck had grown bored and tired of the same old-same old mundane routine. It had been the entire reason he begged and pleaded to go with Ten and Taeyong in the first place. The Earth realm is so unpredictable and exciting, feeding Donghyuck’s natural proclivity towards chaos and his strong desire to be entertained.

But unlike his previous fearless attempts at socialization, approaching Mark is less like crossing a molehill and more like a trek to the top of a mountain. Donghyuck feels weird— a swirl of nausea setting up camp in the pit of his stomach when he sees Mark, every inch of his skin grows clammy when Mark smiles, and whenever Mark speaks, his mouth dries up, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth in an attempt to retreat to the back of his throat. There’s just something about Mark Lee that makes his heart race frantically, pounding against his ribs, vying to burst out of his chest and reside on Donghyuck’s sleeve.

In short, Mark Lee— with his worn sneakers and a smile too innocent to believe— is a force to be reckoned with, and for once, Donghyuck is rendered without a clue. Completely and utterly inept.

He steps in line behind Mark, the classic scent of men’s body spray wafting through his nostrils and Donghyuck suppresses the desire to take a deeper inhale. Mark doesn’t notice him and Donghyuck toys with the idea of making a beeline back towards the table, tail between his legs, but the sight of Taeyong glaring at him from behind his laptop screen is motivation enough to stay put, at least to put in the older’s order.

Mark shifts with the line and Donghyuck lingers only a few inches behind, so close that Mark could have felt his warm breath on the back of his neck if not for the hood atop his mop of black hair. Each step Mark takes drags Donghyuck another inch forward like metal to a magnet until Mark’s at the front of the counter placing his order— a bottle of cold-pressed watermelon juice.

Donghyuck is unprepared when Mark starts to turn around, uncapping the juice before the barista can even hand him his credit card back. Donghyuck tongue dries up and any clever opening he considers offering dies in the obscure trenches of his mind, but no words are needed when Mark fully spins around, unaware of Donghyuck’s close proximity, spilling red slush onto the front of Donghyuck’s sweater.

“Oh shit,” Mark’s eyes widen behind the circular frames, taking the stack of napkins the barista shoves in his hand. He attempts to blot the set-in red staining the cream-colored cashmere but retracts his hand with a sheepish yet apologetic smile as he hands the stack over to Donghyuck. “I swear I didn’t see you behind me.”

“It’s fine,” Donghyuck takes the napkins nevertheless. “It’s no big deal, really.”

Mark’s tilt of the head suggests his skepticism. “Dude, seriously that looks expensive.” He blows a bubble of air through his lips and sets the now half-empty bottle of juice on the counter. “I could probably, like, afford the dry cleaning or something?” He drags his eyes up to meet Donghyuck’s gaze, face lighting up. “Or I could pay for your order!”

Donghyuck shakes his head, blotting at the stain for show despite its futility. “No really, it’s okay—”

Mark’s eyes round, insistent, and pleading as he cocks his head back. “Come on. I’m not gonna take no for an answer.” And how can Donghyuck possibly refuse?

“A mocha and—” Donghyuck peeks at the label of Mark’s drink. “A watermelon juice.”

Mark places the order to the exasperated barista and turns back to Donghyuck as he places his wallet in the pockets of his sweatpants. “Yo, are you sure you don’t want me to pay for the dry cleaning?”

“It’s fine Mark,” Donghyuck tugs at the hem of the sweater and shrugs. “I can get it out. No sweat.”

When Mark arches his brow, Donghyuck realizes the mistake, teeth biting down hard on his tongue. Typically people don’t know the names of people they’ve never formally met. Donghyuck’s mind is ready to trigger every alarm to flee the encounter, withdraw from his Lit class, and possibly transfer schools but he catches a glimpse of the huge basketball poster pinned behind the counter on a bulletin board and a wave of relief consumes him.

“I, uh, I’ve heard about you,” Donghyuck offers. “You’re on the basketball team right?”

Mark nods easily. “Yeah,” The barista hands him the new order, including another bottle of Mark’s spilled drink and he extends a bottle towards Donghyuck. “And you’re Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck’s mouth falls open and he takes the bottle slowly. “How did you—”

Mark laughs before Donghyuck can finish the statement and shrugs. “When someone stares at me as much as you do in our Lit class you start to get curious.” He uncaps his juice and takes a swig, eyebrows raising suggestively before swallowing. “I’m just surprised. With all the staring, you’ve never actually bothered talking to me, so I didn’t even think you knew, like my name and stuff.” Donghyuck wheezes until he chokes out a cough that has Mark going upright, reaching over to pat his back. “Dude, are you okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” Taeyong says suddenly next to them, all packed up, backpack hanging off his shoulder. He reaches in between the two of them and grabs the paper cup containing his mocha with an appreciative nod. He gives Mark a slow once over and turns to look at Donghyuck still struggling to fight down the foreign feeling creeping up his throat. “Stop being overdramatic, Donghyuck. I’m heading to class.”

Donghyuck shoots Taeyong a glare as he departs for the exit and blinks back the tears in his eyes from the coughing fit. “I’m fine,” he answers solidly, clearing his throat again for reassurance before meeting Mark’s gaze again. “And I wasn’t exactly _staring_.”

“Oh?” Mark notices the line forming behind them and gently pulls Donghyuck aside by the elbow. “Then what would you call it?”

Donghyuck presses his lips together, eyes circling around and falling back to Mark. “Surveying?”

“Right,” Mark smirks. “Surveying.”

“Oh wipe that look off,” Donghyuck mutters, twisting the top off of his juice. “I can easily change my mind about the dry cleaning.”

Mark holds his hands up in surrender, taking a step back, smile still in place. “Fine, fine. I just thought I’d try to make it a lot less awkward for the both of us.” Mark palms his drink between both of his hands, smile growing. “But the next time you decide to conduct a _survey_ ,” he says, stepping around Donghyuck, pausing beside him. “I hope you at least say hi.” The pause delays only for a brief second. “ _Donghyuck_.”

Donghyuck could melt at the sound of his name curling around Mark’s tongue and he’s pretty sure the only thing that keeps his knees from buckling is his sweaty hand bracing against the edge of the counter. He watches Mark as he backs out of the building, shooting Donghyuck a smirk before heading off to class and when Donghyuck is 100% sure Mark is out of all range of sight, he tosses the disgusting watermelon drink in the garbage.

  
He’d gladly eat all of Taeyong’s frogs for Mark Lee, but he definitely wouldn’t stomach another drop of _that_ stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Comments Welcomed!
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/AskEnergy)  
> [twt](https://twitter.com/energeticalee)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know,” Mark says, tossing the bag back onto the ground, “for a second I thought maybe you were trying to think of an excuse to come talk to me,” he reaches out, offering the pencil towards Donghyuck. God Donghyuck wants to slap away the confidence dripping from his lips and then soothe the sting with the curve of his tongue. “But clearly that’s not the case.”
> 
> “Clearly,” Donghyuck takes the pencil, fingers brushing Mark’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! I don't have much to say for this update except that I hope you enjoy it as much I enjoyed writing it. I'm still plotting this fic out so the next update may not come until January, but if I have time, I'm going to aim for another December update. I hope you enjoy the chapter!
> 
> -Energy

The Language Building sees the most foot traffic on campus during autumn. Less than enthusiastic undergrads pile on credit after credit of the core required  _ English Composition I  _ and _ II  _ or a random foreign language course in hopes of sailing through the wave of apathy come spring. Between spring break and the three heaven-sent months of summer, writing essays and conjugating Spanish verbs would fall to the bottom of the priority list. It’s the initial reason Donghyuck had chosen to take the feared— and rightly so—  _ American Literature from 1870 to Present _ an entire two semesters earlier than required. After all, why put off today what you’re definitely not going to do tomorrow?

He’s no overachiever, Taeyong fulfills enough of that role for the both of them, but he’s far from a slacker. He’s situated in his seat ten minutes before the scheduled time, if only to make sure no one else claims the spot, laptop propped on the small desktop, and when the professor begins his lecture, Donghyuck dives deep into the world of online shopping and internet gaming for the following fifty minutes. He buys a  _ Spark Notes: No Fear  _ guide to whatever book it is they’re studying for the current exam during his e-window shopping, binge reads all 352 pages the night before said exam, and scrapes by with a C+. 

Okay, so maybe he’s a  _ little _ bit of a slacker.

But unlike a perfectionist, Donghyuck doesn’t procrastinate out of fear. He does it simply because he  _ can _ . Taeyong had chastised him one too many times about the “bad habit” but it’s Donghyuck’s way and that’s how he likes it: easy with minimal effort.

Donghyuck is more of a last-minute doer than an incessant thinker, so the fact that he’s overthinking  _ this _ yanks him apart at the seams.

He arrives twenty minutes early to class today, giving himself a ten minute grace period in the restroom to fix his wind-tousled hair or adjust any unsightly ruffles in his sweater, but ten minutes before one, he lingers outside the classroom’s door, pacing the hall slowly filling with the student body.

As more classroom doors open and shut, each passing student drags stale air behind them, the undercurrent of someone’s strong perfume claiming stake on Donghyuck’s senses— his sense of smell, his sense of taste, perhaps even his common sense. What other logical reason is there for overthinking  _ this _ ?

“This is so stupid,” Donghyuck says to himself, bouncing up on his tippy toes to peer into the tiny sliver of a window on the door. Even from here, he can see the signature basketball hoodie. Third row from the top.

Donghyuck slides away from the door and leans against the wall. “He’s just a guy,” he mutters and folds his arms. “No matter how cute he is or how cute he  _ thinks _ he is, it shouldn’t affect how I function.” Donghyuck wills himself not to look through the window again and bites his bottom lip. “But  _ damn _ , he’s cute.”

He’s replayed his first official encounter with Mark several times in his head since it had happened. He’s tried to analyze it on a politically correct level— Mark was just being the nice, approachable, frontman that he is. Nothing more. Nothing less. He’s tried analyzing it on the metaphysical level— did he even actually  _ talk  _ to Mark at all that day or was it all a weird hallucination? But no matter which way he spins it, the little encounter from days ago had left Donghyuck in a position that he had never been in before: uncertainty.

“ _ The next time you conduct a survey, I hope you at least say hi, _ ” Donghyuck mocks in a tone nowhere near as smooth as Mark’s husky voice. “What does that even mean? Was that an offer? Was he just being nice? God, what does that  _ mean _ ?!”

One thing Donghyuck had liked about the Earth realm was how similar some things were to home, particularly the boys. It had been comforting to know that no matter where he went, boys would still be boys— predictable, salivating, mindless sheep when it came to the topics of sex and lust. Guys back in Solana were easy to read books far below Donghyuck’s reading level and if seeing how quickly Kun fell for Ten was any indication, the guys in the Earth realm were stacked away on the same shelf. Mark, however, is perhaps the hardest subject matter Donghyuck has ever faced— no table of contents, no index, not even a guided summary. Mark Lee is a hard read and there’s no way Donghyuck can fly by the seat of his pants with him.

“This is ridiculous,” Donghyuck pushes himself off the wall and braces the straps of his backpack in his hands. “He’s just a guy. This is no big deal. Just another Thursday. I’m gonna go in, sit down, and pretend like I haven’t spent the last 72 hours replaying our conversation and everything is gonna be fine, right?  _ Right _ ?”

The classroom door creaks as a hand pushes against it, holding it open with a sigh. Donghyuck recognizes the guy from class but not well enough to place a name, not that he’d care much to learn it anyway. “Dude,” the random guy huffs, balancing a tumbler in his other hand. “Are you coming in or are you just gonna keep talking to yourself?”

At the risk of drawing unwanted attention, Donghyuck squeezes past the guy into the classroom but tucks away the guy’s rudeness for later.

They’ve reached the point in the semester where half of the classes’ attendance has dropped so it doesn’t pose as a surprise that the middle section of the oversized lecture hall is a glaring hole in the sparse sea of remaining students. The distance between Donghyuck’s self-appointed assigned seat and Mark’s seat spans ten rows— an entire ocean in Donghyuck’s eyes, but he doesn’t focus on it and trains his eyes on the empty board at the front of the room. The professor hasn’t even arrived yet. He’s not surprised.

Donghyuck had hoped for class to start promptly for once, gambling on the off chance that a discussion-driven lecture would be enough to drown out the voice knocking inside of his head to  _ look back, stare, Mark Lee is back there! _ But of course, he couldn’t be so lucky. Of course things were against his favor for once in his life. Maybe Taeyong put some type of cursory hex on him for the frogs. And the coffee.

Against all reason and the agonizing pang in the pit of his stomach, Donghyuck slings his backpack over the back of his chair, fiddling with the zippers and pockets before he dares to peek up a couple of rows.

Mark leans forward towards his laptop, fingers ghosting across the mousepad idly as if whatever is on the screen is only a mild distraction. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, pulling his attention away from the laptop,and like metal to a magnet finds Donghyuck eyes trained on him. The tiny way the corner of Mark’s mouth pulls up is cocksure and far too smug for Donghyuck’s liking, but that doesn’t stop his insides from shifting like tectonic plates, desperate to rearrange beneath his skin like the Continental Divide. 

And yes, the small squeal that falls from Donghyuck’s lips when Mark proffers a tiny wave is more than pig-like, completely embarrassing, and earns him a few concerned glances from a couple of seats down his own row.

He quickly turns to face forward and focuses on the blank board again. His leg bounces beneath the small fold-out desk attached to the chair and soon his fingers join in, the left playing percussion on his thigh while the right taps the pencil he had pretended to search for against the wood. Mark had suggested it, he had prefaced it on his own accord during their conversation.  _ Come say hi next time. _ It couldn’t be that simple. Just walk up and say...hi? It feels wrong, it feels weird— especially when Donghyuck has always been the one being chased, not the  _ chaser _ — but waiting for Mark to take things into his own hands seems futile. Even with his eyes unnaturally glued straight ahead, Donghyuck can still feel the smug look flitting across the back of his neck every so often, and feels the grin spreading wider and wider as his skin burns hotter and hotter.

Donghyuck looks at the pencil in his hand and slows the tapping to a halt. He chews at his tongue as he stares at it a second longer before peering around him to make sure no one is paying attention to him, not that they ever have before. When he’s sure no one’s clued into what is strange behavior even by his own standards, Donghyuck grips the pencil at the other end, snapping it in two right down the middle with an audible crack. He pushes out of his seat, swipes the residue of wood and lead off the desktop, and eases down the aisle, tossing the broken fragments in the trash as he ascends the steps towards the top rows.

Mark surprisingly isn’t watching his every move like Donghyuck expects as he draws closer and closer to the row, but a few awkward movements of sidling past empty seats before he stops in front of Mark, grants him a somewhat knowing yet genuine smile.

“Let me guess,” Mark rests his cheek in the palm of his hand, propping his elbow against the chair-desk. “Your “survey” requires a Q&A portion now?”

Donghyuck pushes his tongue into the pit of cheek to hide the annoyed smile threatening to expose him. “You know, you’re not as cute as you think you are,” he lies, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin. “I just came to ask if I could borrow a pencil.”

“Really?” Mark grins, lowering his brows. His eyes glance towards Donghyuck’s empty seat with a nod. “Are you gonna use it to write on your laptop?”

Donghyuck steadies a hand on the empty desk beside Mark and musters a flippant frown that he hopes conceals the embarrassment bubbling within. “Do you have a pencil or not?”

Mark watches for a moment longer, and right when Donghyuck’s insides are set to boil, the contents of his stomach threatening to spill over, Mark drags his focus away, lifting his backpack onto his lap and reproducing a slightly used mechanical pencil.

“You know,” Mark says, tossing the bag back onto the ground, “for a second I thought maybe you were trying to think of an excuse to come talk to me,” he reaches out, offering the pencil towards Donghyuck. God Donghyuck wants to slap away the confidence dripping from his lips and then soothe the sting with the curve of his tongue. “But clearly that’s not the case.”

“Clearly,” Donghyuck takes the pencil, fingers brushing Mark’s.

“Anything else?” Mark folds his arms across the desk and leans forward—  _ smiling _ , like he knows all of Donghyuck’s secrets.

Donghyuck huffs out a stubborn  _ no _ before making a beeline down the aisle towards his seat, back tense when he sinks down into the cold chair. He fumbles with the pencil in his hand for a bit, even pulls out a sheet of paper in case Mark is watching him make good use of the instrument, but the only thing he draws is a blank. What kind of game is Mark playing?

Donghyuck stretches his arms above his head with a fake yawn, twisting left then right, far enough to sneak another glance at Mark over his shoulders.

But Mark isn’t there.

Donghyuck blinks and bites his bottom lip to prevent the disappointed pout from reaching the surface, dead set on sinking into his seat and pulling up the uploaded slide deck, but the outline of someone looming in his periphery startles a flinch from him.

Mark leans forward, hands braced along the backs of two separate seats, backpack hanging over one shoulder. His eyes round in a way that’s endearing and though the smile on his face is about seventy-five watts dimmer and nowhere near as brash, it still holds just enough sincerity to make Donghyuck’s heart race in a panic.

“Yes?” Donghyuck manages to draw out, raising one brow.

“I was wondering,” Mark tosses his head side to side in thought before meeting Donghyuck’s gaze. “If you had a pencil I could borrow?”

Mark’s smirk arouses emotions of both excitement and nausea in the trenches of Donghyuck’s stomach, rolling in like tidal waves crashing against jagged rocks. It’s both sickening and attractive and maybe that’s why it makes Donghyuck hate himself so much. He hates that Mark  _ knows  _ he’s having some type of effect on him. He hates the fact that Mark continues to pluck him like a guitar string, watching Donghyuck vibrate at his fingertips. It’s a little too much for Donghyuck to take in a large dose but there’s no way he’s backing down from a proposed challenge of wits and flirtation.

“Now you’re just making fun of me,” Donghyuck’s shoulders sink but he offers a smile in jest.

“Actually,” Mark straightens up and slips his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I couldn’t come up with a better excuse to come talk to you.” He lolls his head to the side. “Dude, you know you don’t have to keep staring. You’re welcome to come sit with me.”

Donghyuck angles his head back towards Mark’s abandoned seat and the empty two seats next to it. As much as Donghyuck stakes claim to his own seat, anyone that’s bothered to show up to class the last eight weeks knows that Mark’s left and right-hand men occupy the left and right seats. Jeno is an enigma to Donghyuck, completely shy and withdrawn around anyone that isn’t decked head to toe in basketball fan gear. And there’s no chance of knowing Lucas when his own personal band of groupies wedge several feet of distance between him and the non-obsessed. It’s a shame—  _ no _ , a flat-out disgrace to humankind, that Mark doesn’t get the same type of attention.

Actually, maybe that isn’t such a bad thing if it means Donghyuck can keep Mark all to himself.

“And endure your jockstrap posse?” Donghyuck turns back around to look up at Mark’s waiting expression. “I’ll pass.” The words burn at the tip of his tongue, every tastebud dying in agony as the chance of being so close to Mark Lee— the chance of being one step closer to inevitably tasting him— slips from within reach. Donghyuck tears his eyes away from Mark as the professor finally makes his appearance through the door. “Besides, I like the view of the board from here.”

Mark scoffs. “How can you enjoy it when you’re  _ never _ looking at it?”

Donghyuck clicks his tongue and holds the pencil outward. “Here’s that pencil you wanted.”

Mark doesn’t grab the pencil. “So you’re really gonna be this stubborn?” He nods his head and mumbles a soft  _ ‘I thought as much _ ’ before he’s squeezing further down Donghyuck’s aisle, knees brushing against Donghyuck’s when he skirts pass and drops into the empty seat next to him.

“What are you doing?” Donghyuck sits up straight with wide eyes, nails digging tiny crescents into the wooden desk.

Mark centers his attention on the board as their professor begins scribbling. “Sitting in the back is really bad for the eyes, you know?” He taps the rim of his glasses. “I need to get a little closer. Besides,” Mark’s tongue peeks out as it swipes across his bottom lip, “I hear the view is  _ amazing _ from down here.”

_ Slick _ . It’s the only word to describe how Mark so effortlessly reduces Donghyuck to a puddle in a matter of words, without even trying, without even being aware. Donghyuck is able to gather himself together without dwelling on his own discomfort because Lucas and Jeno come barreling in from the back doors at the top of the lecture hall, attracting the attention of one-third of the room.

“Yo Mark!” Donghyuck winces at Lucas’s voice booming across the room. Lucas spreads his arms as wide as his grin and gestures towards the empty seat when Mark looks back. “What’s up?”

Mark shakes his head and offers a slight wave of his hand. “Nah, I’m good. I need to focus today.”

Maybe it’s a lie, maybe not, but Donghyuck takes great satisfaction in knowing Mark chooses to be by his side. The reason is irrelevant.

“A good decision,” their professor speaks, words terse and pointed as he stares at Lucas’s towering figure amongst the crowd. “On that note why don’t we take our seats and get started, hm?”

* * *

  
  


Donghyuck doesn't expect to focus on the lesson— he never does, this isn’t anything new. But focusing on  _ not focusing _ is a lot harder when his mind can’t help but drift to the man sitting beside him. Mark is a marvel at a distance, shining in his own right like a full moon too out of reach to appreciate. However, having Mark in his vicinity, so close that Donghyuck can touch him, is a bit unnerving. Up close and personal, Mark is the sun, too strong to look at directly for too long but pulling enough focus to draw in fleeting peeks. Mark follows along with each slide on the large monitors after the professor loads up his slideshow, clicking every so often on his laptop, engrossed and ignorant to the world around him. As if Donghyuck’s attention isn’t desperately revolving around him.

Donghyuck has never been so thorough in analyzing anything.

Mark darts his tongue out when he’s stumped and flicks it over the small valley centering his bottom lip until his eyes light up and his fingers move faster across the keyboard than the professor can speak. He fidgets with the sleeves of his hoodie when he grows restless, tugging his arms all the way inside until he’s left with sweater paws or folding and unfolding the sleeves at the cuff. And  _ God,  _ when Mark is really invested in the lecture— something about how all the characters’ names are evocative and allegorical to their personality pulls him in— he  _ manspreads _ , thighs spaced out so wide across the chair that Donghyuck wants to slide between them like a missing puzzle piece.  _ Hell _ , Donghyuck would jam his way in like the piece that  _ doesn’t _ fit.

Before he knows it, the class ends, and students shuffle in their seats to collect their belongings, unfazed as the professor darts out as quickly as he came. Mark snaps his laptop shut, resting the palm of his hand on the blue case, and lolls his head aside to stare at Donghyuck.

“So,” Mark drawls, lax in his seat. “Did you take any notes? Like, at all?”

“Of course I did,” Donghyuck says and angles a full screen of notes at the prompt of Mark’s arched brow. It’s such a petty thing to use magic for— transferring his knowledge and photographic memory through the pads of his fingertips but something’s got to give in these sort of situations.

Mark balks at the page full of paragraphs and bullet points and tilts the screen back for a better view. “How did you— yo, I swear I didn’t even see you type a thing!”

“So you were watching me?” Donghyuck counters.

Mark pauses, and when the irony sets in, he tosses his head back with a small chuckle, nose scrunching up. “I see what you’re trying to do,” he says. “All I’m saying is I didn’t notice a thing.”

“Well, you  _ are _ legally blind.”

Mark laughs. “Touché.” He leans forward in his seat, sliding his laptop into his bag, and flips the desktop up. “I was thinking though, maybe we could, like, get together some time, you know?”

Donghyuck squints his eyes as he stands and shrugs his backpack on his shoulders. “I’m not that much of a studier if that’s what you’re getting at,” he drags out.  _ Please don’t let that be what you’re getting at. _

Mark follows suit, moving to stand, and runs a hand through his dark strands. “Well, actually, I was thinking more of a leisure trip. You know, bowling? An arcade? We could go to  _ Funplex.  _ That place has everything.”

Donghyuck’s mind stutters through processing the information like an overwhelmed computer hitting ‘shut down’. Bowling? Games? Prizes? Food? Just them? The two of them? His mind runs rampant with all the possibilities and implications and maybe it shows because Mark frowns after a second’s delay.

“So,” Donghyuck clears his throat so it doesn’t crack. “Like a dat—”

Cascades of long jet-black hair invade Donghyuck’s line of sight, as a petite girl squeezes past him, nearly pushing him back into his seat. Donghyuck grabs onto the back of his chair for balance and narrows his eyes towards the girl as she orbits closer from Mark’s gravitational pull. 

“Mark, what happened to you last weekend?” she whines through a pout. Donghyuck doesn’t have to look at her stupid face to see the petulant push of her over-glossed lips.

Mark looks at Donghyuck over her shoulder with apologetic eyes, face scrunching when he directs his attention back towards the girl. “Sorry,” he scratches the back of his head with a shrug. “Coach has us on a pretty tight leash. No alcohol. No breaking curfew. No parties.”

The girl stomps, shoulders slugging. “But Lucas came!”

“Lucas does a lot of things he isn’t supposed to do.”

Donghyuck thinks to clear his throat— he thinks of much worse things first— but Mark’s eyes constantly darting away from the girl to offer a silent  _ just a minute _ , layers a thin veil of patience over him. So Mark  _ does _ have groupies. Donghyuck folds his arms. He should be a little more careful of what he wishes for. Or what he may accidentally manifest.

The girl twirls a strand of her hair and tosses her head to the side. “I was really counting on you being there. I wore a pretty white dress and I was saving a dance for you.” Donghyuck silently gags.

  
  


“Maybe some other time then,” Mark shifts but still offers a polite smile.

“Promise?”

A sigh racks through Mark’s body and he scrubs his hands across his face. “Lia. I’m kind of talking to someone, right now.” he gestures towards Donghyuck.

Lia whips her head around, hair striking across Donghyuck’s chest as she regards him with wide, innocent eyes. The  _ thwick _ of Donghyuck’s teeth kissing his tongue sounds louder in the near-empty room.

“Oh my God,” Lia presses her manicured hands to her chest, feigning sincerity. “I’m  _ so  _ sorry. I didn’t even see you there.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Donghyuck’s voices sweetly.  _ Was that before or after you shoved me? _ His fingers clench and unclench, the blood in his veins running hot but he plasters on a smile that’s just as “sincere”, one he hopes Mark doesn’t see through.

Lia turns back to Mark and strokes his arm lightly. “Call me, okay?”

Mark waits until Lia is back across the room, packing her bag before he speaks again. “Sorry about that. She can be...a lot.”

Donghyuck nods and hopes his voice doesn’t give off disappointment when he musters out, “Girlfriend of yours?”

“More like, a one-time thing that karma will never let me forget,” Mark shakes his head to clear out the fuzzy thought. He scrunches his nose. “What were we talking about again?”

“You, me, and _Funplex_ ,” Donghyuck smiles.

“Right!” Mark snaps and points at Donghyuck, grin returning. “Is Saturday good for you? Say, around seven?”

“It’s perfect.” And if it isn’t, it’s future Donghyuck’s problem now.

“Cool,” Mark nods and slings his backpack on his shoulder. “I’ll meet you there.” He snaps his attention away briefly when Jeno and Lucas call his name, waiting near the back door, before squeezing past Donghyuck with a gentle smile. “See ya,  _ Donghyuck _ .”

Somehow Donghyuck’s ability to talk and function leaves along with Mark, tailing him like a shadow.

Donghyuck watches Mark run up the steps to catch up with his friends, waiting until the trio disappears from view before honing in on Lia, still packing her powder pink backpack with notebooks and pens.

“Oh Lia,” Donghyuck curls his tongue around the word, pushing down the aisle. “Let’s chat.”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Okay,” Ten swings his legs back and forth, gripping the counter beneath him. “Explain to me why I need to be blindfolded for this?”

He pictures Kun’s laugh when it rings out, melodic and gentle, and imagines the cute upturn of his lips. “I already told you,” Kun says, voice advancing towards Ten. “To appreciate the artistry of food, you have to allow your palate to develop.” Ten feels the warmth of Kun’s body heat surrounding him as he presses a hand on either side of his thighs, locking Ten into place on the countertop. “Most people eat with their eyes, not with their tongues so this is just a way to make sure you’re  _ actually _ tasting the flavors. Plus— ” a wet kiss touches Ten’s lips, pulling away as he arches forward for more, “ — it’s sexy.”

“When you told me you were coming over with blindfolds, this is definitely not what I imagined,” Ten says. “We have two completely different thoughts on what constitutes as sexy.”

“Will you get your mind out of the gutter,” Kun snickers. “You promised you’d help me with my  _ Pastry Arts _ assignment.”

“I’m trying,” Ten says. “Can you blame me?”

“Well try harder.” The warmth surrounding Ten wanes but returns as a wet digit presses down on his bottom lip. “Now, taste this.”

Ten wraps his lips around Kun’s finger, tongue curling around it to catch every drop of the sweet cream rolling from tip to knuckle. Kun presses down on the center of Ten’s tongue and swears under his breath when the suction tightens and Ten withdraws with a loud  _ pop. _

“Well,” Kun breathes.

“Mmm, well it’s sweet,” Ten hums, nudging Kun’s thigh with his foot. “And kind of thick like, melted ice cream?”

A puff of air leaves Kun’s mouth, a sign of silent laughter that Ten knows all too well. “Close,” Kun smiles. “It’s créme anglaise with a hint of Madagascan vanilla, or for the layman, drinking custard.”

“Give me a harder one,” Ten licks his lips.

There’s a slight pause to which Ten attributes to Kun mulling the idea around, ultimately relenting with a soft, “Okay.” Ten hears shifting, the sound of a bowl dragging across the countertop and the clatter of a metal spoon in the sink before the soft plush of Kun’s lips melds against his.

It starts as tiny pecks over Ten’s cupid bow and gentle kisses on his top. Then Kun’s lips brush lower, so soft that Ten leans in further to melt against the warmth, to taste the very essence of Kun in his sparse breaths. It is, by no means, the type of kiss that’s rushed, sheathed in carnal desire, writhe with teeth and claws, but it feels just as salacious, dotting Ten’s skin with a trail of goosebumps. When Kun pushes his tongue against Ten’s, a new flavor overwhelms Ten’s senses—flavors more tangible on his tastebuds. Ten tastes chocolate, rich and dark, ever-present from the chocolate torte Kun had made earlier, but then a tartness breaks through, slightly subdued by cinnamon, yet still crisp and tangy like…

Ten pulls the blindfold down, eyes narrowing when Kun steps back. “What did you just give me?”

“It’s coulis,” Kun moves to grab a bowl and stirs its contents, eyes to Ten. “You don’t like it?”

“Coulis better be French for chocolate and not—”

“It’s apple fruit sauce.”

“Get out.”

Kun bends at the knees when he laughs, doubling over in the bowl between his arms. He lifts his head and sighs when Ten’s expression is unyielding, sliding the bowl back onto the counter. “Ten, come on. You can’t hate  _ every _ fruit.”

Ten slips off the counter, light in his landing, and balls the discarded blindfold between his hands. “This little experiment was fun while it lasted,” he says and fills an empty glass with water from the refrigerator dispenser. “But now you and your disgusting applesauce can vacate the premises.” Love or no love, everyone has a line and Kun had defiled Ten’s in the worst way.

Kun tosses the wooden spoon in the sink and leans against it with folded arms. “You promised me that I could do my assignments here since you already have every spice known to man,” he smirks as Ten downs the water. “And you  _ know _ it wasn’t that bad.”

“I feel like I wanna vomit.”

Kun tosses his head back with exasperation, pushes off the counter, and wraps his arms around Ten’s shoulders from behind. “That’s just your body’s way of saying it can’t  _ possibly _ contain its love for me.”

“I don’t know. This feels more like heartburn.”

Kun buries his head in Ten’s neck, layering small pecks across the exposed skin. He litters apologies up the column, kissing them along Ten’s earlobe but the thoughts in Ten’s mind are louder, much more riotous, pulling him out of the moment.

Hiding things on the surface level is easy. He doesn’t have to think twice about disguising the ancient tomes as sappy romance novels and textbooks when Kun comes over. It’s easy to hide the obscure objects scattered around their apartment— crystals, potions, and the crockpot that definitely isn’t advisable for cooking purposes— but it’s Ten’s insides that object to the deceit, shifting with uncertainty. 

How long could he keep this up? A week? A month? Forever? Constantly confessing his “sins” and retracting them before the taste of bitter reality settles on his tongue? Ignorance is bliss and Kun thrives in the shadows, no matter how hard Ten tries to bring him to light. He tries to be okay with it— really tries to picture a life moving forward as normally as possible, but the guilt continues to eat away at him, corroding his insides with each kiss, with every embrace, and any time _ love _ slips past Kun’s perfect lips.

The pain is too intolerable to take and Ten is at wits’ end.

The front door slams shut, dragging Ten from his reverie, and Taeyong comes into view, steps skidding to a halt when he takes in their embrace just as Kun leans over to press a wet kiss on Ten’s cheek.

“Honestly,” Taeyong huffs, shrugging his bag onto the floor. “Don’t you two ever get sick of each other?”

Ten folds his arms across his stomach and frowns. “I’m feeling pretty sick right now.”

Kun chuckles low in Ten’s ear and pulls away to untie the apron around his waist. “Hi to you too Taeyong,” he wipes his hands on the apron, folding it neatly and gesturing towards Ten. “Ignore him. He’s just being overdramatic.”

“He fed me  _ fruit _ ,” Ten scoffs, hand over his chest.

“Not  _ fruit _ ,” Taeyong quips, expression blank. “Someone call the police.” He positions himself on one of the stools at the bar and leans across the counter. “How long are you two going to be? I need to—” he pauses to look at Kun and then pointedly at Ten, “ —  _ cook _ .”

Kun places the folded apron on the counter and repositions a Tupperware dish sitting on the stove. “Not much longer,” he says, grabbing a bowl of raspberry coulis and drizzling it over the desserts in the dish. “I just need a couple of mint leaves from the refrigerator to finish off this panna cotta and then I’ll be out of your hair. Ten?”

Ten sets his empty drinking glass in the seat and walks over to the fridge, yanking the door open with little effort to retrieve the carton of mint, but instead, gasps and slams the door closed, pressing his back against it like a surefire seal. Kun pauses, bowl in hand, and Taeyong arches a brow when Ten shifts his gaze towards him, eyes rounding in panic.

“You know what?” Ten’s says, voice an octave higher. He clears it, and readjusts his position, one hand braced against the fridge. “We are fresh out of mint.”

“What?” Taeyong frowns. “But I just bought—”

“No, you  _ didn’t _ !” Ten interrupts, smile tight as he hardens his gaze. “We’re  _ all out _ .” He turns back to Kun and braces a hand on his shoulder. “But you know who has  _ a lot _ of mint? The specialty grocery store three blocks from here. So why don’t you leave these here, run down, and grab you a box so you can finish your assignment?”

Kun squishes his eyebrows together and locks the Tupperware lid into place. “Three blocks for mint? I think I’ll be fine without it.”

“Nonsense,” Ten guides him away from the stove and into the dining room. “The  _ Fournier Institute of Culinary Arts  _ simply cannot have their best student turn in a subpar panna cotta because of a few stray mint leaves.”

Kun looks to Taeyong— who perks up at Ten’s prompting with an affirming gesture— and then nods. “Okay I get it,” he clicks his tongue and grabs his jacket off the dining room table. “You two need to have a little roommate talk. “I’ll be back after I go get the…” his words trail off, gaze cloudy and distant.

“...Mint,” Taeyong says.

“Mint, right.” Kun shrugs on his jacket, eyes still layered with fog as he repeats the word under his breath up until he exits the apartment.

“Okay,” Taeyong snaps his attention to Ten. “You  _ really _ need to stop erasing his memory.”

“Never mind that!” Ten scurries back into the kitchen, waving Taeyong closer. “Look in the fridge.”

Taeyong blinks but pushes off the barstool, entering the kitchen with caution. He slants his eyes towards Ten again as he wraps his hands around the door handle, jerking the refrigerator open and peeking inside.

“Do you see it?” Ten bounces on the balls of his feet.

Taeyong clicks his tongue and looks back at Ten over his shoulder. “I see a bunch of produce that I told you to throw away weeks ago hidden in the vegetable crisper.”

Ten groans his frustrations, head tilting back to the heavens. “Not  _ that _ !” He gestures and moves beside Taeyong. “In the jello!”

Taeyong turns his head back, honing in on the jiggling, green jello mold, a surprised gasp following shortly after.

The overall image is grainy— lime-flavored jello isn’t nearly as translucent as a crystal ball or cell phone screen— but the scarlet bow-shaped lips are hard to miss when they curve into a warm smile. The eyes come into view next, a soft crinkle rimmed in kohl, blinking back at them through thick lashes.

“Irene?” Taeyong balks, lips parting.

“Hello, boys,” Irene’s voice carries above the hum of the refrigerator’s motor. “How are things in the land of the mortals?”

Taeyong meets Ten’s wary glance briefly. “Uh, it’s fine Irene, but—”

“Why are you lime jello?” Ten blurts out.

Irene offers a silvery laugh. “It’s a bit unconventional, yes, but I wanted to keep you on your toes.”

Ten is already there, balancing on metaphorical eggshells and biting his tongue. The last time they had seen Irene was during their departure a year ago, leaving Solana and the covens’ matriarch behind iron-clad gates. Irene had been apprehensive about the decision, yet supportive, bestowing her blessings, a set of rules, and Donghyuck’s care in both Ten and Taeyong’s hands— though Taeyong hadn’t hesitated to take the brunt of the responsibility. Though tender and supportive, Irene regards the many covens of Solana with unwavering standards, standards that she had imposed upon them as well, spanning across realms and dimensions.  _ Remain covert. Don’t reveal thy powers. Refrain from self-indulgent magic.  _ Ten had violated the triad with Kun  _ alone _ .

Irene squeals in delight and Ten thinks he hears the soft clap of her hands. “You both look wonderful! Absolutely wonderful! And where is Donghyuck?”

“He’s in class,” Taeyong slows, smoothing a hand over the back of his neck. “Not that we aren’t equally excited to see you… in our refrigerator...but very rarely do you make house calls, so, I’m assuming this is important, yes?”

Irene hums. “My Taeyong, ever perceptive and direct. There’s no getting past you, is there?” Ten rolls his eyes at the ghost of a smile pulling at Taeyong’s lips and clears his throat. Irene grins, lips spreading wide. “As we agreed upon during your departure, your Witch Exams would be postponed for a year’s time to allow the three of you a grace period of adjustment. That time is up, and your next assessment is nigh. The three of you should begin your preparations.”

“What should we expect?” Taeyong interjects before Ten can breathe. “When should we anticipate your arrival?”

“I’m afraid I’m unable to step away from Solana to proctor the exams as usual,” Irene says. “However, I have appointed more than qualified delegates from within the covens to act in my absence. Their departure dates are unknown, so I’d advise you all to be prepared to the best of your abilities.”

Ten groans when Taeyong perks up, a knowing glint crossing his round eyes as he nods his affirmations and promises of their success. As if Ten doesn’t have enough to handle on his plate already without Taeyong breathing down his neck every second of the day with a spellbook. Pre-exam period Taeyong is annoying. But study mode Taeyong is downright  _ insufferable _ . He zones back in towards the end of the conversation as Irene bids her farewells, wishing them luck and great achievement before the connection dissolves, the jiggling gelatin in her wake.

Taeyong stands at full height, hand bracing on the open door. “Ten,” he drags his eyes from the fridge’s content to Ten and purses his lips. “Get rid of this garbage in the crisper.”

Ten rolls his eyes and positions his index and middle fingers together, licking a fat stripe across the pads. He ignores the noisy objection of disgust that falls from Taeyong’s mouth and squats to his haunches, smudging a medium-sized ring on the tile. He stands back up and taps the inside of the ring with his barefoot. The inner circle of the ring opens up to a black hole, bottomless and murky with enough light suction to drag a few stray balls of fuzz into its depths.

“Where does this thing even go?” Taeyong steps back, refusing to look away from the pit.

“I don’t know.  _ Somewhere _ ,” Ten shrugs, yanks the crisper drawer out of the refrigerator, and dumps the rotten, molded produce into the chasm. “Just not here.” The hole grates through the old food with a loud whir, simulating the metal scraping of a garbage disposal, and swallows itself whole, replaced by the floor's tile pattern. Ten places the crisper drawer in the sink and runs water in it. “Can we just agree not to go overboard with this exam preparations? We all have  _ actual _ exams coming up too and it's a lot to juggle.” Not to mention his current boyfriend problems.

Taeyong snorts out a laugh. “You’re kidding, right? These stupid exams are nowhere near as important as the Witch Exams. This is our livelihood, Ten. We have to ace them if we want to reach level ten status.”

Ten grips the counter’s edge and peeks at Taeyong over his shoulder. “That’s easy to say when you pass all of these “stupid exams”. Think of poor Donghyuck. He can’t make a career out of magic. This degree very well could be  _ his _ livelihood.”

“Have you ever heard of magicians?” Taeyong deadpans.

“Do you really want Donghyuck to saw people in half and make them disappear?” Ten counters.

Taeyong sucks in a breath, shoulders slumping. “Look, I just want us to be prepared at the minimum. You’ve had a good distraction with Kun and Donghyuck’s lazed around with his games and shows, but we’re all rusty with our incantations so playtime is over”

“But not you  _ Taeyong _ ,” Ten teases, turning off the spout. “You’re  _ perfect _ .”

Taeyong grins. “Your words. Not mine.” 

Ten rolls his eyes and exits into the dining room, collecting Kun’s assignment papers from the table. “You really are too much.”

“I have principles and I stick to them,” Taeyong says matter-of-factly. “And my number one concern right now is that we all pass whatever curveball Irene sends our way. We don’t know who’s coming or what they’re going to test us over. So that means no more slacking off and more studying and punctuality.” His eyes travel to the cuckoo clock on the wall. “Speaking of which, where  _ is _ Donghyuck anyway? His class ended twenty minutes ago. I hope he doesn’t expect me to cover for him like this all the time.”

“No one’s asking you to do anything for me.”

Ten lifts his head, gaze following Donghyuck as he steps further into the dining room with an unreadable face. Ten drops his attention to the item in his hand, a small potted white rose, fully bloomed, stem littered with unpruned thorns and leaves. Donghyuck cradles the pot between arm and chest, blinking to each of them without word or acknowledgment of the plant.

“Uh Donghyuck,” Taeyong slows. “What’s with the flower?”

“Oh, this?” Donghyuck looks down at the rose as if only becoming privy to it upon Taeyong’s suggestion. He looks back at them with a sated grin that unsettles Ten as much as it does Taeyong, if the older’s cautious expression is any indication. “Did you know that, unlike the romantic meaning of the red rose, a white rose can mean humility or reverence?” Donghyuck drags a finger across a petal carefully and hums. “It’s a symbol of  _ respect _ , hyung,” he looks back up. “Isn’t that interesting?”

Taeyong cranes his head back slowly. “Yeah?”

Donghyuck smiles down at the flower again and pivots on his heels, humming some indecipherable tune as he heads for his room. Ten watches after the younger, even after he’s disappeared, only tearing his gaze away when Taeyong speaks up again.

  
“Okay, he is  _ seriously _ starting to scare me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are welcomed!
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/AskEnergy)  
> [twt](https://twitter.com/energeticalee)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My point is,” Taeyong continues, overtaking Ten’s voice. “I think I know the best way to make everyone happy. You can go out with Mark.”
> 
> “Yes!” Donghyuck perks up, smile returning.
> 
> “But I’m chaperoning.”
> 
> “No!” Donghyuck groans, all traces of warmth draining from his face. He grabs Taeyong by the shoulders with a desperate whine. “Hyung, no! I’m twenty years old. How in the hell am I gonna look showing up to a date with you?!”
> 
> “Like a loser,” Ten snorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you had happy holidays and a great start to the New Year! Here I am, as promised with my January update and I really hope you're enjoying this story so far! I rediscovered my newfound confidence in my writing so for the first time in a long time I feel satisfied with what I've written for this chapter! I hope you all enjoy this update! I have more notes at the end of the fic but until then, enjoy!
> 
> -Energy
> 
> Note: I also forgot to add the disclaimer that the trio are not actually brothers. It's just the allibi they live by (in case it wasn't clear enough)!

It’s not a true sunrise that reflects through the smudged panes of the library’s skylight, but an artificial one. The light shines through, brightening every inch of space that it touches, but there’s no warmth licking at Taeyong’s cheeks when he casts his gaze upward to bask in the soft glow— not like the real sun, the one he’s sure is finally breaking dawn above their apartment.  _ This  _ sun is unnatural, just as contrived as the space surrounding them.

Taeyong drags his finger down the moth-eaten pages of the spellbook before closing it with enough force to arouse a cloud of dust motes, dancing in the streaks of light. The book’s weight leaves a blurred mess of muted greens and sienna on the podium when Taeyong lifts it and the subdued smell of dried paint overpowers the room. The scent is forthright and overbearing, but its intent to distract is nowhere near as purposeful as Taeyong’s made-up mind.

“Okay,” Taeyong smiles, walking around the stand, heeled boots clicking on the wood floor. “The time to be serious starts now. Irene said our exams have officially resumed, so we need to be prepared.  _ Strategic _ ,” he wanders between the column of wooden tables, stride stuttering beside one of the two occupied ones. His eyebrows lower, mouth pulling into a tight line as he slams the spellbook on the tabletop, prompting Donghyuck to jolt out of his mindless daydream. “And  _ well put together _ .”

“Why are you looking at me?” Donghyuck’s mouth rounds into a pout and he slides his elbow across the table’s surface, cheek-in-palm.

“Because you’re not paying attention,” Taeyong says, rounding the perimeter of the table until he nears Ten. Ten doesn’t move from his slouched position in the wooden chair but snorts at Taeyong’s response with a smirk of mild agreement.

“How can I?” Donghyuck sits up straight and throws a wild gesture with his hand. “The fumes from this oil painting are making me dizzy.” He swipes a hand across the tabletop. He frowns at the ochre-colored residue that stains his palm and angles his head away as the chemical odor screams louder. “I feel like I’m in one big scratch and sniff sticker.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes. “It is not my fault that  _ Monsieur Olivier Besson _ could not create a more vexing piece with watercolors.” He slides atop one of the empty tables, legs dangling back and forth. “This is the only place we can study, free of distraction so we’ll just have to make do. Now—”

“Taeyong,” Ten says, head tossed over the back of his chair, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s seven in the morning. On a  _ Saturday _ . We don’t even know who’s giving the exam or what’s it going to be over—”

“Or when it’ll be,” Donghyuck mutters, pushing his seat away from the smeared table altogether. “It could be next month for all we know.”

“Or it could be today,” Taeyong counters, “Or tomorrow. We. Don’t. Know. That’s why I have developed the best course of action to ensure that the three of us are more than prepared,” He jumps off of the table with a bouncy smile and moves towards the blank dry erase board stand in front of the bookshelves. He wheels the board to the front of the room and flips it over on its axis, revealing a jumble of neatly handwritten bullet points, diagrams, and numbers in purple ink. “We study everything.”

Ten cracks his eyes open and lifts his head slowly, eyes raking across the board. He purses his lips with a hum and then nods. 

“You’re insane.”

“I’m also a three-time holder of a perfect score on the past  _ three _ Witch Exams,” Taeyong says, holding up three fingers and puffing his chest out. He brushes off his own accolades with a shrug and a cocksure grin, clasping his hands together as he leans against the board. “Get to know me. I’m amazing.”

“ _ No _ ,” Ten clicks his tongue. “You’re  _ insane _ .” He tilts his head after a moment’s speculation. “And frankly, a little bit sad.”

“Don’t forget a loser,” Donghyuck adds with folded arms.

Taeyong’s smile doesn’t waver though, only widening with smugness as he drifts about the board. “Sure, make fun. But just know that I’ll have the last laugh when I can flaunt my level four status over the two of you,” he points between Donghyuck and Ten’s indifferent expressions. “I’m only applying pressure to you two because pressure makes things uncomfortable and what do people do when they’re uncomfortable? They  _ move _ . Questions?”

Donghyuck raises his hand.

“Yes, Donghyuck?”

Donghyuck drops his hand to his lap and stares off for a moment, still yet lifelike, almost as if he himself belongs in the oil painting. “If a guy asks you to go to an amusement center,” he licks his lips, still staring at some invisible spot, “and it’s on a Saturday night, just the two of you, is that considered a date?”

Taeyong frowns, confusion weaving through his face. “What? What does that have to do with—”

“Oh my God,” Ten slings his arm over the back of his chair and angles to face Donghyuck with an impish grin. “Do you have a date?”

“I don’t know? Maybe?” Donghyuck buries his face in his hands with a loud groan and kicks his feet like a tantrum-driven child. “That’s why I’m asking you two.” He pauses, lifting his head to stare at Ten. “Well, mostly you, since Taeyong—”

Taeyong’s screech rings loud like a car mashing its brakes against concrete, and a garbled choke lodges in the back of his throat. “ _ Don’t _ finish that sentence,” he points at Donghyuck, drawing closer. “In fact, don’t even finish that  _ thought _ because it has absolutely nothing to do with—”

“Did Mark ask you out?” Ten interrupts, bringing his feet beneath him and leaning further in his chair. Taeyong deflates and swipes a hand across his face.

“He said we should “hang out”,” Donghyuck shrugs and studies the floorboards. “I mean, he flirted with me a lot in class, but the word “date” never left his mouth.”

Ten clasps his hands together with a high-pitched squeal that makes Taeyong wince. “Aww, that is  _ so _ a date! How cute!” The chair scrapes the floor and then Ten’s up, barreling into Donghyuck’s side with a tight hug that makes the younger whine in protest. “When is it?”

“Tonight,” Donghyuck squeezes out of Ten’s grip. “At  _ Funplex _ .” 

Taeyong drags his attention away from counting colored specks on the ceiling and sits upright. “ _ Funplex _ ?” he asks. “Isn’t that the place where all the frat boys take dates they don’t want to be seen with? They call that place ‘ _ Pump and Dump. _ ’”

Ten shoots Taeyong a glare that’s more cautious than an actual warning. Donghyuck’s temperament has been volatile, to say the least, and Taeyong thinks that Ten’s suggestion of “letting him be” is more for Ten’s own benefit than Donghyuck’s.

“Mark is not a frat boy and he’s hardly the type of guy to ‘ _ pump and dump,’ _ ” Ten lifts a strand of Donghyuck’s purple highlights with a fond smile that makes Taeyong roll his eyes. “I’m sure his intentions are sincere.”

“I didn’t say they weren’t,” Taeyong says. “But that doesn’t mean Donghyuck shouldn’t be careful. He doesn’t want to lose his purity in the sticky backseat of some go-kart.” Taeyong flips open the spellbook, rifling through a series of pages before the surrounding silence unnerves him enough to look up. Ten and Donghyuck both watch him with fixed gazes, teeth deep into the flesh of their bottom lips before the library echoes with laughter. Ten hunches over Donghyuck’s shoulders, arms covering his eyes to shield the tears, and Donghyuck’s mouth is just wide enough for Taeyong to wedge his foot in it.

“And  _ what _ is  _ so _ funny?” Taeyong places his hands on his hips.

Ten stands up and dabs his waterline, careful not to smear the thin strip of liner. “ _ Purity _ ?” he barely gets out over the stray fits of laughter. “There’s  _ nothing _ pure about Donghyuck.”

Taeyong waits for the punchline or the inevitable whine that always follows when Donghyuck’s behavior is the topic of discussion, but neither comes. Donghyuck simply averts his eyes and preoccupies himself with picking shades of russet from underneath his nails. Taeyong stares hard enough to make Donghyuck shift, his very spirit rustling beneath his skin, and with an exaggerated sigh, Donghyuck offers Taeyong the eye contact he so desperately seeks.

“Oh come on hyung,” Donghyuck drops his hands to his lap, head tilting to the side. “You didn’t really think I was a virgin, did you?”

“What?” Taeyong balks. “How are you  _ not _ a virgin?! Who in the hell have you been having sex with?”

“Easy,” Ten smirks, playfully tugging Donghyuck’s shirt collar before sliding back into his own seat. “We’ll be here all night.” 

Taeyong is sharp as a whip even when he isn’t running on caffeine and espresso beans on an early Saturday morning. Taeyong doesn’t miss the way Ten cackles wildly when Donghyuck grabs the spellbook and chucks it at him or the battle of childlike taunts the duo tosses back and forth at each other. What he does miss, however, is Donghyuck’s adamant denial of an accusation Taeyong isn’t too keen on picturing. No matter how many innuendos and subliminals Ten tosses Donghyuck’s way, Donghyuck takes them all in stride, never rejecting the last or dodging the next one. Sometimes Taeyong wishes he wasn’t so sharp, so detailed-oriented.

The sordid details of Ten’s sex life is far from a secret, the only difference existing between now and their days back in Solana is Ten’s choice of monogamy, which itself had been a strange concept to get used to. But Donghyuck being just as lewd, if not more, rattles Taeyong for more reasons than one. His heart tries to tell him it’s because it’s Donghyuck— young Donghyuck, that used to trail his and Ten’s heels around Solana. The same Donghyuck that used to pout with his chubby cheeks whenever he wasn’t allowed to join in on the antics of the older kids. Taeyong still has vivid images of Donghyuck, aged seven, clinging to his teddy bear as Taeyong and Ten cast their first intention spells in Ten’s backyard with mud pies and dandelion fluff. Connecting  _ that _ visual with the cursed image of Donghyuck, writhing beneath another person, is damning. 

As Donghyuck grew older, he had shed the baby weight and developed into his own— still clinging to Ten and Taeyong every chance that he got— but more in tune with his own person and his own desires. Taeyong knew of Donghyuck’s old friends that he had run with before their departure. It could’ve been any one of them. Shotaro. Sungchan. Even Jaemin—Donghyuck had been especially close to him. It could’ve even been Taeil, the TA presiding over remediation courses at their high school. Donghyuck had suspiciously caved to after school tutoring sessions in manifestations during his twelfth year, a lot easier than Taeyong or Ten had expected back then.

Realization sets in though, his mind overriding all irrational sense of emotion with pure logic and reason. Taeyong’s always been the more learned one, the one with the most experience, the most common sense, the most book smarts. Call it selfish, call it prideful, but there had always been a sense of warmth inside of him knowing that Donghyuck had and would always see him as the knowledgeable one— someone he could go to for advice about anything bound within a book. Clearly  _ this _ , however, is way out of Taeyong’s skill set.

He peeks over to find Ten and Donghyuck still distracted amongst themselves, shooting quips quid pro quo, Ten’s grin feline. Had Donghyuck told Ten everything? Every experience? Every romp? Did Ten know about Donghyuck’s first? His last? Why had it been such a big secret, big enough to keep Taeyong in the dark? His mind skirts over the superficial and dives deeper, into his subconscious until it strikes the origin of everything.

Maybe he isn’t jealous about not knowing. Maybe he’s jealous because Donghyuck has finally one-upped Taeyong in an area where he cannot compete. 

“Okay,” Taeyong props both hands on the tabletop and shifts his weight. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Donghyuck scrunches his nose. “It’s the fumes, isn’t it?”

Taeyong manages an icy glare, marching over and snatching the spellbook from Ten’s hands, ignoring the protest that falls from his lips. “No it’s not the  _ damn _ fumes, Donghyuck.” he bites. He cradles the book beneath his armpit and heads towards the east barrier— the unseen fourth wall separating the painting from their apartment, and places his hand on it, phasing back into the real world in a warp of purple light.

He’s only out in the dining room two seconds before Ten and Donghyuck’s own auras materialize shortly behind— one smoky and black the other a soft, blue haze— leaving the golden-framed Baroque painting askew on the wall. Ten doesn’t say much, just offers a defeated sigh as he sinks into one of the chairs at the table, but Donghyuck is Taeyong’s shadow, following him into the kitchen before he even finishes taking shape.

“Need I remind you hyung,” Donghyuck says louder when Taeyong tries to drown out his voice with the sound of the sink’s faucet, “that you agreed, albeit reluctantly, to let me date Mark?”

Taeyong squirts a generous amount of dish soap in his palms and lathers away the oil paint from his skin. He scratches hard, dragging his nails across his hands until the skin is red beneath the hot water and when he manages to rid every trace of the medium, Donghyuck’s still staring, waiting. Taeyong sighs, turns off the faucet, and tears a sheet of paper towel from the roll.

“Well, that was before I knew the exams were coming up,” Taeyong says, patting his hands dry. It’s a foolproof scapegoat for thoughts he’s not ready to face— after all, those petty notions buried within the deep recesses of his mind could be intrusive thoughts, ideas created from panic, not reality. “And what does it even matter? You said it yourself, you don’t even know if it’s a date.”

“It’s a date!” Ten pokes his head into view over the bar.

“He doesn’t know that,” Taeyong glares.

Donghyuck frowns and snatches the used paper towel from Taeyong’s hand, tossing it in the garbage. “Well thanks for your support,” he bites out. “I can see I really have you in my corner, Taeyong.”

Taeyong pauses to let the air seep from his nostrils, bracing himself against the counter. There are a million words wetting his tongue, pooling at the tip, dying to dribble past his lips. He could pull seniority. He could tell Donghyuck how reckless and childlike he’s being, prioritizing matter over magic. He could even stoop as low as fearmongering and aversion therapy— showing Donghyuck the consequences of careless hookups in statistics and graphic medical photos as a last resort option. But ultimately, Taeyong clicks his tongue with a grin, heaving a feigned sigh of surrender.

“Look,” Taeyong darts his tongue out to lick his lips. “If you want to let your freak flag fly with Mark— a  _ devastating _ thought— fine. But the last thing I want is one of Solana’s proctors popping up while you’re in the middle of getting your rocks off.”

Ten looks at Taeyong incredulously, arms folded across the bar counter. “Freak...flag...fly? Taeyong, only someone not having sex would say something like that.”

“My point is,” Taeyong continues, overtaking Ten’s voice. “I think I know the best way to make everyone happy. You can go out with Mark.”

“Yes!” Donghyuck perks up, smile returning.

“But I’m chaperoning.”

“No!” Donghyuck groans, all traces of warmth draining from his face. He grabs Taeyong by the shoulders with a desperate whine. “Hyung, no! I’m twenty years old. How in the hell am I gonna look showing up to a date with you?!”

“Like a loser,” Ten snorts.

Taeyong shoots Ten a warning look and Ten holds both hands in the air in defeat, miming a lock to his lips and reaching for the glass dish of candy at the end of the bar. Taeyong turns his attention back to Donghyuck and places a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Donghyuck, I just don’t want you to be caught off guard,” The words ring true to his heart, despite the underlying fears layered beneath it. Part of Taeyong’s responsibility of watching after Donghyuck includes making sure Donghyuck is just as up to par as the rest of them and there’s no logical way of explaining to Irene that Donghyuck failed an exam because he’s still going through his boy-crazy phase. “I’m not going to ruin your little playdate. I promise.”

“That’s not enough,” Donghyuck says following Taeyong out of the kitchen after Taeyong bypasses him. “You have to take an oath— swear on the book, swear on Solana, Irene, and everything you believe in that you won’t ruin this date!”

Taeyong pivots to face Donghyuck and rests his hands on his hips. “That’s a little dramatic.”

“Not as dramatic as what’s gonna happen if you  _ don’t _ ,” Donghyuck narrows his eyes. “I’ve been having a taste for fried  _ frog _ legs lately.” Taeyong’s eyes widen, head whipping towards Ten as the latter sucks on butterscotch disk.

“Don’t look at me,” Ten says, voice wet around the candy. “You told me to stay out of it.”

Taeyong slowly glances back at Donghyuck and picks up the spellbook off the dining room table. He smacks one hand on the leather cover, the other beneath it for balance. “I promise, Lee Donghyuck, on this book, on all of Solana, Irene, and everything I believe in that I will not ruin this date for you.”

* * *

  
“This place smells like the bottom of a stale popcorn box.”

Donghyuck’s glare is well-timed with the loud, shrill animated sound of some game off in the distance. Taeyong doesn’t care. He crosses his arms and winces as he steps forward into the amusement center’s lobby, sneakers sticking to something on the multicolored carpet.

“Hyung, please,” Donghyuck says with a surprising tone of desperation that is much unlike himself. “You promised.”

Taeyong watches the neon-colored lights dance patterns across Donghyuck’s skin and sighs, uncrossing his arms to hang at his side. “And I’m not going to break that promise,” he says, adjusting his windbreaker. “But I’m not going to hide my absolute disgust for this place either,” His nose scrunches up at a couple pinned against one of the lilac painted walls, touching tongues and sloppily exchanging saliva. “It’s like a sticky, icky, petri dish.”

It’s definitely nowhere near as magical as the online photos, romanticizing a neon indoor Ferris wheel or lush eating areas with fairy tale-esque fountains decorating the space. Maybe  _ Funplex  _ had once been those things, but now all that remains is a declining business with stale, overcooked food, and outdated arcade games from the early 2000s. It’s the best the small college town can do on short funds, but no one complains. No one really comes for the games or ambiance anyway.

“You can have your  _ unwanted _ opinions,” Donghyuck scans the space. “Just keep them inside  _ your _ head.”

“You just make sure you keep  _ your _ head,” Taeyong says. “And keep your hands where I can see them.”

Donghyuck doesn’t hear him though, drowning out Taeyong’s words with a shrill  _ eep! _ And grabbing onto Taeyong’s arms like a starstruck fan. Taeyong follows Donghyuck’s gaze and rolls his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Mark is free from his usual uniform of sweats and university hoodies, opting for a more casual look that Taeyong guesses is as close as the athlete will ever get to “dress to impress.” Donghyuck’s squealing over an oversized graphic tee, ripped-at-the-knee jeans and  _ Converse _ like it’s something special and when he gets a little too entranced as Mark ventures closer, Taeyong has to pry Donghyuck’s fingers off of his arm to stop the bruising.

“You act like a deranged weirdo when he’s around,” Taeyong mutters, rubbing his forearm through his jacket. “What’s wrong with you?”

Donghyuck’s smile falters and he shoots Taeyong a narrowed-eye glance. “No love life. No opinion.” Taeyong sucks his teeth.

Mark stops when he reaches them, grin wide and eyes sparkling beneath the brim on his dark cap, wielding a long chain of tickets in one hand and a sack of tokens in the other. 

“Donghyuck, you made it,” Mark says and Taeyong snorts when Donghyuck gives a lackadaisical shrug— as if he hadn’t almost danced out of his sneakers mere seconds ago. The noise goes unnoticed by Mark who trails his eyes over to Taeyong with squished brows. “And you brought your..brother?” Mark trails off, tone uncertain. “Taeyong, right? From the coffee shop? How was that mocha?”

“Cold and disappointing,” Taeyong smiles sweetly despite the sharpness of his words. Donghyuck elbows him. A silent warning.

Mark doesn’t take to the acerbic tone, pulling his cap up slightly to see better and chuckles. “Yeah dude,” he says, hands finding his pockets. “It’s pretty watered down, even on their best days.”

Taeyong will admit to himself— and no one else— that Mark is somewhat endearing. His attempt at awkward small talk is admirable and he doesn’t carry himself like the likes of those he keeps in his company, but Taeyong isn’t giving an inch for Mark to take and run away with. Taeyong regards Mark the way he would do anyone insistent on sharing Donghyuck’s soul, the way he had always been with each and every new friend Donghyuck had acquired back in Solana. With politeness, but guarded skepticism.

A weird silence passes between the three of them considering the background noise of electronic music from various games clashing with the obnoxious pop music filtering into the lobby every time the doors to the skating rink opens. Mark flits his gaze to Donghyuck briefly and Donghyuck pushes away from Taeyong’s side, gravitating into Mark’s orbit.

“Uh, don’t mind him,” Donghyuck throws his thumb towards Taeyong that triggers a grunt from Taeyong’s throat. “He won’t be a bother to us. He was  _ just _ saying he wanted to go get some nachos.” Donghyuck aims a forced smile in Taeyong’s direction.

“I hate nachos,” Taeyong deadpans.

“Well, then how about you go buy some  _ gummy frogs _ ,” Donghyuck grits out behind the whites of his teeth. “And play some games.”

“Oh yeah, dude, those are, like, so good,” Mark adds unbeknownst to the tension clashing between Donghyuck and Taeyong’s auras. He looks at the items in his hands and offers them towards Taeyong. “You can have the rest of my tokens and tickets and stuff. We’re not gonna need them for bowling anyway.”

Taeyong looks at the proffered gifts and rolls his eyes, taking them in his hand, ignoring the way Donghyuck’s face relaxes to a softer, more natural grin. “Leave your phone on in case of emergencies,” Taeyong points at him. “If anything happens, I’ll be—”

“I  _ know _ ,” Donghyuck drags out, grabbing Mark by the wrist. “We’ll be fine. Bye!” Mark looks no less surprised than Taeyong, an amused smirk growing as Donghyuck hauls him towards the entrance of the bowling alley, and Taeyong sighs. He should really stop letting Donghyuck get his way. Threats or not.

He looks at the bags of tokens, tosses them up, and catches them in hand, scanning the scattered games. “When in Rome,” he mutters.

There’s a couple of machines that Taeyong steers clear of from reputation alone. The rules of  _ FunPlex _ have traveled throughout various conversations on campus enough for Taeyong to pick up the important bits. Avoid any game or ride with a seat, don’t go into any simulation game with drawn curtains, and avoid the Ferris wheel and go-karts by any means necessary. Maybe he should’ve taken the extra effort to bring along a pack of disinfectant wipes.

He passes the food court, sends polite smiles to the few familiar faces he knows from various classes and meetings, and tries not to put two and two together when Mina from  _ Political Science 2305 _ is here with Gio from  _ Calculus I _ or why Kim, overambitious president of the Astrology Club is hand in hand with the renowned Fencing Club champion. Kim is an avid studier— impeccable smarts, flawless grades, and shares the co-presidency of the Diamond Scholars Organization with her only viable match, her twin sister. And somehow, despite the labels attached to her by needlessly wealthy sorority girls or lowbrow barely-scraping-by stoners, Kim  _ still _ manages to have a social life, and apparently a romantic one as well.

Taeyong shakes his head when he reaches a row of sectioned-off goals for shoot-and-throw basketball games. Everyone around him is so caught up in relationships and sex. He pushes a couple of coins in the machine, triggering the divider to release a stampede of basketballs for play. The thoughts of missing out on something important nags at him when he picks up the first ball, but he laughs it away, sinking the ball into the net with ease. Why would he want to waste ten minutes of his time, squirming beneath a sweating body?

The next ball sinks easily and the following shots land with just as much precision until Taeyong’s shooting mindlessly every time rubber touches his hand. Ball touches hand, hand shoots— like an unconscious motor reflex. The pattern becomes so repetitive — ball, hand, shoot, swish, ball, hand, shoot, swish— that the loud, panging thoughts plaguing his mind fall deaf behind the excited alarms blaring from the machine.

He’s so in sync and in the moment that he ignores the sudden presence beside him on the adjacent machine, loading coins into the slot, until a familiar, derisive snort leaves the person’s mouth.

“Funny Lee, I would’ve thought you’d never touched a couple of balls in your entire life.”

Taeyong flusters, stumbling mid-shot, and watches as the last basketball pelts the scoreboard and bounces off the rim. His face heats up and he hopes the glaring red lights disguise the blush when he meets Johnny’s eyes with a horrified expression.

“What?!” He panics, gripping the machine at the edge.

Johnny raises a brow at Taeyong’s overwrought state and slowly picks up one of his basketballs. “The basketball,” he clarifies, shooting the ball after Taeyong’s shoulders relax with a deep breath. “What did you think I meant?”

Taeyong doesn’t even repeat the thought in his head.

“You think just because I score high on exams that I can’t score baskets?” Taeyong reaches down and rips the coil of tickets from the machine. “It doesn’t take a genius to aim a ball in a bucket—” and after a pensive moment, he smiles, “so I’m sure you should have no trouble at all.”

Johnny wedges his tongue in his cheek and laughs dryly. “You’re such a comedian all of a sudden.” He picks up another orange ball and sinks it into the netting, smiling at the blaring sound effects. “I guess when you’re second best at everything you develop a sense of humor.”

Taeyong pauses in folding his tickets. He almost takes the bait, the same trap that Johnny sets every time causing Taeyong to fall prey to an inevitable pissing contest, but not this time. Taeyong continues folding the stack of tickets into a bundle and exhales.

“Figures  _ you’re _ here,” Taeyong says. He glances at Johnny, straightening tall when Johnny returns the gesture with a glance of his own. “What  _ lucky  _ person got dumped by you?”

Johnny shoots another ball. “What lucky guy  _ dumped _ you?”

The final buzzer resounds and the scoreboard displays Johnny’s score in big, red digital numbers. The more Taeyong focuses on the numbers, the more his head throbs from the incessant thoughts poking and prodding for him to  _ acknowledge _ Johnny’s score— and the grating fact that it’s five points higher than Taeyong’s own. 

“Look at that,” Johnny says, smug, “I scored five points higher than you. Just like on our  _ Dramatic Literature  _ exam.”

Taeyong frowns, hands falling upon his hips. “ I made a perfect score on that exam.”

“Maybe,” Johnny shrugs, loading another round of coins in the machine. “But  _ I _ got the optional extra credit question.” The barricade releases the balls from the corral and he picks one up, cradling it between his hands. “That would make my score a 105.”

Taeyong uncrumples his bag of coins and pushes two gold tokens into his own machine, grabbing the first orange ball that breaks free from the enclosure. “I’ll have you know that I would’ve easily scored those extra credit points, but I have nothing to prove,” he palms the ball in his hands, nails digging in rubber. “And I could’ve easily gotten the same number of baskets if it weren’t for your grating voice distracting me.”

“Is that so?” Johnny pushes out his chest and raises a brow before lowering it with a devilish smirk. “Because I’ve been told I have a  _ sexy _ voice.”

“Ha!” Taeyong mocks. “Whoever told you that  _ lied _ . You’re the human personification of nails on a chalkboard.”

The alarm rings signaling the start of the shot clock and Johnny sucks his teeth. “Alright Lee,” he shoots the ball in his hands into the basket with relative ease and spreads his arms wide. “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?”

“Gladly,” Taeyong frowns, hurling his own ball into his net, and returns the look, just as smug.

Taeyong feels his expression mirror Johnny’s, eyes narrowing and lips pulling into a defiant grimace. Everything after that falls into a distorted blur. Taeyong’s hands move faster than his eyes as he shoots ball after ball into the net, passing side-eye glances to Johnny’s scoreboard every so often. They’re oddly in sync, balls swishing into their respective nets in tandem, scores surging higher and higher. The tickets pool out of Taeyong’s machine and weave around his leg with each successive shot. The encouraging voice of the animated kangaroo painted on the machine sinks beneath the buzzer, Taeyong’s thoughts, and breath until both games let out the final blare, revealing the finishing score in dancing animations.

Johnny’s 935 to Taeyong’s 934.

Johnny puffs out his chest with a huge rapt grin. “Well look at that,” he points at the machine. “I  _ won _ .”

“So you were a breadth of a second faster,” Taeyong folds his arms. “Don’t get smug. I can still beat you in any other game here.”

“Oh really? So this wasn’t embarrassing enough?” Johnny points at the scoreboard and then shrugs. “Fine. I have some time to serve you your just desserts.”

“The only dessert here will be the big whopping slice of humble pie you’ll be eating.” Taeyong sneers and turns to face the rest of the arcade area. “Name your game.”

Taeyong pretends to not notice Johnny’s eyes lingering on him before he scans the area himself. Johnny claps his hand and points at a black game machine painted with outdated graphics.

“ _ Street Fighter, _ ” Johnny says, pushes the sleeves of his sweater to his elbows, and bolts without warning— leaving Taeyong behind with a parted mouth and a frustrated groan that rips from his throat.

“Damn it, Suh!”

Taeyong untangles the web of tickets from his leg and bunches them in his hands as he stalks across the arcade area, curving and dodging rambunctious children and stray couples. The looks he receives, in turn, are irrelevant— he doesn’t care how deranged he looks, fists tight and eyes piercing holes into Johnny’s skin the closer and closer he gets to the video game. There’s just something about Johnny Suh that sends Taeyong’s id into an unrestrained rampage, disregarding all sense of manners, politeness, and common courtesy. Taeyong could look like a complete neanderthal for all he cared if it meant embracing the primal satisfaction of knocking Johnny down several pegs and beating him into the ground.

By the time Taeyong reaches the machine, the character select screen is already loaded, loud intermission music playing in a loop. Johnny’s already chosen his character—  _ Ryu _ — and smirks as the cartoon caricature dances on the screen.

“Best six out of ten?”

Taeyong grips the joystick and focuses on the screen. “You’re on.”

* * *

  
  


Donghyuck checks every magazine, blog, and high-schooler-approved personality quiz on the internet while Mark in the restroom and comes to an exciting yet terrifying conclusion.

It’s  _ totally _ a date.

Dating in Solana is straightforward— either you liked someone or you didn’t, and if it were the former, you asked them out. No gray areas, just black or white. But the Earth realm is a palette of blended colors without a clearly defined shade. Hanging out? Dating? Talking? Fooling around? Friendzones? The borders are all smudged and Donghyuck would rather die than to put his pride on the line and actually ask Mark about his intentions.

But he doesn’t have to— thanks to @cassiegirl123’s blog.

They’ve cleared two of the five criteria required for a date. It’s just the two of them— if you don’t count the random stragglers a few lanes away from them, which Donghyuck  _ doesn’t  _ count— and plans were set way ahead of time, a common dating standard that transcends realms. But Mark had provided number three,  _ effort _ , paying for Donghyuck’s ticket to play and the smelly rented alley shoes. Granted, the clerk had been one of Mark’s friends and had given him a discounted price, but the effort was there and that counted for something. Number four was on Donghyuck, a surge of nervousness in the pit of his stomach less agitating than digesting frogs but far more noticeable than actual butterflies. Every time Mark’s lips twisted into a smile at some sly remark Donghyuck forgets to hold in, or his eyes shine at some random new fact Donghyuck unconsciously spills about himself, Donghyuck gulps down another sip of his syrupy-sweet slushy so fast his brain pangs in protest, throbbing against his skull. Anything’s better than vomiting wings.

Donghyuck shoves his phone back into his pocket and eyes the scoreboard hanging overhead. Mark’s ahead, by  _ a lot _ , no thanks to skill or athleticism. Despite being a star campus athlete, Mark Lee is surprisingly bad at bowling, so bad that Donghyuck feigns more than the occasional gutterball just to prevent himself from showing the poor boy up. There’s nothing sexy about being beaten to a pulp on the first date and Donghyuck is more than capable of setting aside his dignity for a couple of hours.

“Alright I’m back,” Mark says, sliding back into his seat as he eyes the scoreboard with a proud smirk. “We can finally put an end to your embarrassing defeat.” He pulls his cellphone out of his back pocket, shifting into a more comfortable position in the plastic chair, and places it face down on the small table between them. Criteria number five: zero distractions.

“That’s very unsportsmanlike conduct for someone that’s a supposed team player,” Donghyuck says, wedging his tongue in his cheek to suppress a smile. “There’s such thing as being a sore winner, you know?”

Mark uncaps the top of his water bottle, takes a swig, and then shakes his head. “I’m sorry it’s just—” he gestures towards the scoreboard with a dumbfounded chuckle, “—I’m no good at bowling. Like, at all. I had my thirteenth birthday party at a bowling alley and imagine losing to everyone— on  _ your _ birthday. Even the clown beat me.” He shakes his head, eyes crinkling. “I had all but put away my aspirations of becoming a world-renowned league bowler, but, I think my faith’s restored. I’m  _ creaming _ you.” Donghyuck sinks his nails into his thigh to stop himself from shuddering.

“First of all, a professional bowler? You’re the university’s MVP. Aim higher. And second, don’t think I don’t know a cry for ego-stroking when I see one,” Donghyuck side-eyes him, mouth twitching upward. “People write psychology books about people like you.”

Mark laughs, and the sound alone— so infectious, so soothing— overshadows everything around Donghyuck. Pins clattering against one another fade to the back of his mind like white noise and the whir of balls returning through the machine, clunking against each other goes as unnoticed as blinking. Faintly, his mind registers other voices in the background. People talking. People cheering. Laughter. It all feels wrong. None of it is remotely the same timbre or the right pitch. None of the sounds surrounding them are even on the same scale. None of it sounds as good, or even  _ half _ as good as the sound of Mark Lee.

“Yo, I so do not need my ego stroked,” Mark says and after a beat, coupled with an arched brow from Donghyuck, “Okay, maybe just a little ego-stroking is nice. It’s nice to find someone that’s just as bad as you are at something,” And then Mark leans in, with a grin drawn, shaped, and traced by the devil himself. “Even if you are faking it.”

Donghyuck grabs the styrofoam cup, scratches the sides, and sips, biting through brain freeze. “I’m not faking anything.”

Mark bends his neck forward, head tilting to the side. “You’re already a faker, don’t be a liar too. Nobody bowls like  _ that _ not even me.” He laughs.

And to be fair, Mark’s far from off-target. Faking incompetency at something you’re really good at isn’t as easy as it seems, and Donghyuck, a natural-born ace, hadn’t known the best way at appearing amateurish at something that’s ten percent thought and ninety percent fine motor skills. Especially when he knows at least five spells that could knock down every pin and all of the pins in the adjacent lanes just by impact. So, when he had approached the lane for his first play, Donghyuck did the only thing that was a surefire sign of a bowling novice. He squatted low, tucked the ball between his legs, and pushed off, letting it roll straight into the gutter after eight painstaking seconds. When he had turned around, Mark wore wide eyes, edging out of his seat in surprise and then smiling when the realization that his own pitiful play minutes prior may not lead to demise after all. Had Donghyuck known his efforts were  _ that _ obvious, he would’ve preserved some of his self-respect and landed a spare or two.

“It was really that obvious, huh?”

“Not at first,” Mark admits. “But once I caught on it was pretty cute. I don’t think anyone’s ever faked it with me before.”

Donghyuck tucks that bit of knowledge in his back pocket for revisiting. 

“After your first round, I didn’t want to make you look bad,” Donghyuck admits, stirring the blue raspberry slush. “Which, would be almost  _ impossible _ not to do.”

Mark isn’t one of those athletes with something to prove, wearing their pride as a first layer of armor for anyone daring enough to take a stab at their insecurities. He lolls his head to the side with a wide grin, licks his lips when Donghyuck’s jab fully processes, and clicks his tongue.

“You’re making me look bad  _ now _ by patronizing me,” he laughs. “Give me some credit, dude.” Mark pushes out of his seat and walks over to the return machine, picking up Donghyuck’s ball, a shiny violet with white glittery stars. “But,” he pushes the ball in Donghyuck’s hand when he returns, “I’ll forgive your transgressions if you finish out the rest of the game—  _ for real _ this time.”

Donghyuck takes the ball and kisses his teeth with a smirk. “Fine. You asked for it.”

They switch places as Donghyuck rises from his seat, Mark hooting out a cheer that attracts the attention of the few bowlers down the lanes and a couple of attendants. It’s the type of thing that would boil Donghyuck’s skin had it been Taeyong or Ten, whether the endearment was out of encouragement or not. Coming from Mark, however, it’s far less embarrassing. There’s excitement bubbling from Mark’s aura, honest and genuine, and it makes Donghyuck’s palms sweat as he cradles the ball, stepping closer and closer to the lane.

Donghyuck slips his fingers into the ball’s holes, feeling the weight in his grip as he sizes up the pins at the end of the alley. He doesn’t need eyes on the back of his head to know Mark’s at the edge of his seat, not when Donghyuck already has a sixth sense telling him so. Pins crash a couple of lanes away from him, momentarily snatching his concentration and the loud voice in his mind tells him how easy it would be, how simple and foolproof it would be.  _ Just spew some incantation under your breath. Aim the ball. Roll. Strike. Perfect score. Perfect score.  _ But no matter how much his palms slick against the ball beneath the eyes of fluorescent lights and Mark Lee, Donghyuck squares his shoulders back and stands his ground. He doesn’t need to be perfect or particular. Just Donghyuck. Mark only asked for him to be Donghyuck.

The ball leaves Donghyuck’s grip quicker than he realizes, trundling down the polished lane so fast that in a blink, the pins crash into each other, flattening on the ground before the mechanical arm sweeps them away.

“Shit,” Donghyuck hears Mark say with a bubbling laugh. “You weren’t kidding. You were really,  _ really _ holding back.”

Donghyuck spins on his feet, arms splayed outwards as he struts back to their seats, smug. “Get to know me, Mark Lee, I’m amazing.”

“You’re something alright,” Mark mumbles beneath a smile adjusting the scoreboard. “That’s for sure.”

Donghyuck flicks his eyes to Mark’s lips when he’s sure Mark is too engrossed in working the machine to notice. He wonders what kind of dater Mark is. Is he the hopeless romantic type? The type from those movies Taeyong watches when he thinks no one’s watching him? Does Mark walk his dates to their doorstep and leave them with a kiss promising more? Or is he like the guys from Ten’s raunchier movies? The kind that comes upstairs at the end of the date, pushing things across the boundaries of hot and heavy just before the screen fades to black? 

A passing thought flits to Lia. Annoying Lia, with perfectly glossed lips, long hair, and eyelashes that fan out and flutter like wings. How long had it taken for Mark to lose all resolve of being the perfect gentleman, crossing boundaries to touch skin— fingers on flesh, hands on thighs, tongue licking tongue? Had Lia egged him on? Had it been of his own will? Donghyuck had spent the days leading up to the date thinking about it, over and over, until his eyes actually turned a deep shade of viridian and his aura soured, curling in black tendrils, plaguing everything around him. He had tucked those thoughts away to the best of his ability, if not for the sake of the upcoming exams, then for Mark’s. The last thing Donghyuck needed was his powers unleashing some form of retaliation on Mark unintentionally.

The suppression of his jealousy doesn’t stop Donghyuck’s carnal desires though. If it had taken Lia even a second to wrap Mark around her dainty fingers, then Donghyuck wanted to cut that time in half, his own personal best. Donghyuck’s fingers dance through the gaping holes of his jeans, itching to reach out and touch Mark at the thigh, or the bicep— anywhere really— as long as Donghyuck can search every inch of Mark’s body like unchartered territory. He wants to learn the terrain and lay stake to claim, but more importantly, he wants to scour every piece of Mark until he finds that button, that switch, that special trigger.

Donghyuck wants every part of Mark, but he wants it the fair way. The right way. Sans magic. Free of illusions. Without deception. Donghyuck wants Mark to  _ choose _ him.

Donghyuck is just a few inches shy of making good on his impulses, fingers edging dangerously close to the dark hairs at the nape of Mark’s neck, beneath his cap, when another hand sets up camp at the base. Mark jumps, just as surprised as Donghyuck by the sudden presence of a newcomer, but relaxes, brows falling when he locks eyes with the man behind him.

“Lucas,” Mark turns, resting his arm against the back of his seat. “Dude, what are you doing here?”

Lucas removes his free hand from Mark’s neck to shovel a handful of nachos into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. “What do you think?” he says, dipping another chip into the curdled fake cheese. He nods his head towards the bowling alley’s entrance and grins, waggles his brows, and pops the chip into his mouth. “I just finished riding the go-karts.”

Donghyuck wrinkles his nose. Lucas’s disheveled appearance— black band tee bunched up to the shoulders, sweat tarnished chain turning green around the clasp, and dark wash jeans with an obvious defective zipper— seemed more like poor fashion choices. Or carelessness. But the sweat clinging to each stringy strand of Lucas’s dark hair, the spit-shined lips, and the goofy come dumb expression on his face gives Donghyuck more than enough pieces to put two and two together. The go-karts aren’t sticky for no reason.

“But a better question,” Lucas continues, scarfing down the last of his nachos and folding the paper bowl between his hands, “ — is what are  _ you _ doing here?” His eyes drift to Donghyuck.

“You know, uh,” Mark’s gaze flickers to Donghyuck too and then back at Lucas with a shrug. “Just hanging out with Donghyuck. Bowling.”

Donghyuck tenses. There was that word again.  _ Hanging out. _

“Right,” Lucas laughs lightly, leaning forward to toss the empty bowl in the garbage can a few steps away. “Mark, can I talk to you for a second?” He leans over to claim Donghyuck’s attention, unwrapping that charming smile that Donghyuck’s heard girls fawn over around campus. “You don’t mind do you Donghyuck? Basketball stuff, you know?”

“I guess not,” Donghyuck answers, hollow.

Lucas pulls Mark out of his seat, probably to drag him off to a far corner somewhere, but Donghyuck’s mind travels further, transcending the walls of the bowling alley to somewhere darker and less defined.  _ Hanging out? _ Mark had used the words before and had tossed them out again so easily.  _ Hanging out? _ Donghyuck had read too many things, too many conflicting things, and now  _ everything _ seemed to be painted in fifty shades of gray. Where was the line? Where did Donghyuck reside on Mark’s spectrum? If “hanging out” is Mark’s preferred word choice, then there isn’t a spectrum at all. Just a friendly little zone, population Donghyuck.

Donghyuck doesn’t recall picking up his empty styrofoam cup again and only realizes its presence when his nails dig crevices into the sides, bearing holes that allow little droplets of  _ Blue Razz-Ma-Tazz _ to collect at the pads of his fingers. Donghyuck groans and tosses the broken cup into the trash, wiping the sticky residue on his pants' legs. A quick scan of the dim-lit concessions area reveals just how far Lucas has dragged Mark away, the two of them dawdling near the restrooms and the emergency exit backs to Donghyuck and the rest of the alley. Donghyuck pushes a breath past his lips and watches the ball return machine push a new stack of balls into the corral, including Donghyuck’s. It’s hard to focus on anything else and the seconds drag on, but all Donghyuck can focus on are two little words.  _ Hanging out, Hanging out. Hanging out. _

Donghyuck stares at Mark’s ball waiting in the front of the corral, a simple design, a black glossy finish, fashioned to look like a magic eight ball. Donghyuck bites his lower lip. Mark had touched the ball. The spell could work, it’s by no means difficult, but the guilt sits heavy in Donghyuck’s stomach. His mind travels to Ten, constantly having to manipulate Kun by means of deception just to keep their relationship intact. Donghyuck had vowed that would never be him— dancing around the subject of who he is just to preserve a relationship. He didn’t want to use magic on Mark. He didn’t want to risk their relationship to illusion and bewitching.

But if there isn’t even a relationship to begin with, what exactly is he risking?

Donghyuck walks over to the ball corral and picks up Mark’s ball, giving a quick glance to the duo before bringing the ball up to his lips and murmuring against it.

_ “An arcane eye, used as such _

_ Show the truth of user’s touch.” _

Through the ball’s sleek and glazed finish, an image forms, slightly out of focus, but Donghyuck can still make out two figures, bathed in the dull red light of the exit sign in the corner of the room. Donghyuck rotates the ball in his hands until Mark’s face comes more into focus, voices barely registering beneath the sounds of balls dropping and rolling from nearby games.

“Mark,” he hears Lucas say through the makeshift crystal ball. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Mark sighs and shifts his weight. “I already told you.”

“I mean,” Lucas looks off, presumably to Donghyuck’s general direction, and continues, “what are you doing with Donghyuck? He’s a little... _ weird _ .”

“ _ Weird _ ,” Donghyuck scoffs at the bowling ball in his hands, voice low. “There’s nothing weird about me! I’m the most normal person on this damn dirt rock of a realm.” 

Lucas had never left too much of an impression on Donghyuck, coming and going in his mind like the next person, but the idea of him having predefined opinions on Donghyuck and using those preconceived notions to sway Mark against him sours on Donghyuck’s tongue. It’s bitter and rotten, stings like acid, and fights its way back up no matter how hard Donghyuck tries to swallow it down. It simply isn’t something he can ignore.

  
  


Donghyuck watches emotions cross Mark’s face, one being hesitance, before Mark responds. “He is  _ not _ weird, dude.”

“That’s right!” Donghyuck says albeit a bit too excitedly, attracting the attention of an attendant clearing tables at the adjacent lane. Donghyuck narrows his eyes and grips the ball in his hands. “What are you looking at? I like to give my ball a confidence boost. Mind your business.”

Lucas’s voice comes back in and Donghyuck focuses once the attendant moves down to the next lane, shaking his head with mumbled words under his breath.

“Look no offense to him but he and his brothers— or whatever they are to him— are kind of strange,” Lucas says. “And I’m pretty sure Donghyuck talks to himself. People have been talking.”

Donghyuck hardens his eyes. “I do not fucking talk to myself!” he hisses. The irony of the situation sits in the back of his mind, but in his defense, talking to a bowling ball isn’t exactly talking to himself. That doesn’t count, right? Donghyuck definitely doesn’t count it.

“I don’t care what people are saying,” Mark folds his arms. “I like Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck stops. The wide smile on his face is embarrassing, an unstoppable force like light, gracing his features just as fast. Mark Lee had used the words “hanging out” so casually and thoughtlessly that Donghyuck had almost felt like a second thought. But Mark Lee saying the words “ _ I like Donghyuck _ ” held confidence and intention, without any hesitation or doubt lingering on his tongue. Donghyuck is inclined to believe  _ this _ Mark, the one that says nice things when Donghyuck isn’t in his presence when he feels like he doesn’t have to save face. Donghyuck  _ likes _ this Mark. This Mark  _ likes _ Donghyuck.

And then.

“I think we could be good friends.”

Darkness is just as unstoppable a force, swallowing everything the light leaves in its wake. It crosses Donghyuck’s face  _ twice _ as fast, shadow lines beneath his furrowed brows, a murkiness in his eyes, and he has to wedge his digits into the finger holes to stop the ball from slipping out of his grasp. The image of Lucas and Mark disconnects from his sudden drop in concentration, but Donghyuck doesn’t care. He’s seen enough.

He hurls the bowling ball down the lane with a frustrated groan, spinning on his heels without watching the end results. Mark is already back in their section, eyes darting over Donghyuck’s shoulder as he approaches, and when the pins crash, his eyes grow wide and uneasy.

“Sorry about that,” Mark slows, thumb over his shoulder towards the exit where Lucas had seemingly disappeared. “Uh, is everything okay though?”

“It’s fine,” Donghyuck shrugs, short, moving to pick up the next bowling ball within his reach. “Why wouldn’t it be okay.”

“Because you broke one of the pins,” Mark points over Donghyuck’s shoulder. Donghyuck doesn’t look.

“Well, it shouldn’t have been in the way.”

Mark sucks his bottom lip in, quiet for a moment to choose his words. “Are you sure you’re okay, Donghyuck?” he finally says. “You seem kinda off. I’m sorry Lucas interrupted us.”

Donghyuck lets out a mirthless chuckle and replaces the ball in the corral. “You’re right,” he shoves his hands in his pockets. “All of a sudden, I’m not feeling too good. I should go find Taeyong.”

“Are you sick?” Mark steps forward to brush his fingers across Donghyuck’s forehead. “I knew the food here was kind of sketch, but I didn’t think the slushy would do you in like that. I could take you home if you want?”

Donghyuck steps away from the touch and purses his lips together. It’s so hard to be upset with Mark, especially when, in the grand scheme of things, what had Mark actually done wrong? Nothing. Mark had never promised a date, no matter how much Donghyuck had read into it, and he hadn’t promised a relationship or even a one night stand. Donghyuck hadn’t been entitled to any of that. All Mark had done was promise a good time and was  _ nice _ to Donghyuck. All Mark had done was be Mark— charming, kind, and friendly— and Donghyuck had been Donghyuck— pushing his own motives and feelings onto an otherwise innocent situation.

Mark hadn’t hurt Donghyuck. Donghyuck had hurt himself.

“No,” Donghyuck breathes. “I just think I better go find Taeyong.”

Mark deflates. “Oh,” he slows. “I— okay, if you’re sure.” He picks up his phone from the table and holds it up with a small shake. “Well, you have my number. Maybe we could do something again next time? When you feel better?”

“Sure,” Donghyuck fakes a smile. “We’ll hang out.” He wants to die inside.

* * *

  
  


Taeyong's down to one token out of the fifty Mark had gifted him and the additional hundred he had cashed out on just to prove a point. The point being: beginner's luck is a thing, karma is sometimes instantaneous, and that he could beat Johnny at any game, and by a long shot. They had cycled through every multiplayer game in the arcade  _ twice _ , even revisiting the basketball game for Taeyong's own sake of redemption, and just as he had known all along, he'd beat Johnny by a landslide. But it's not like he needed validation of that fact or anything. Taeyong has nothing to prove. He simply does so just to spite Johnny. 

The name of the game is air hockey and the score is tied at nine, first to ten wins. The chain of tickets hanging around Johnny's neck is nothing compared to the makeshift ticket sash wrapped around Taeyong's left shoulder and torso, but neither of them pays any mind to the literal proof of winner's success. True victory is mental and intangible— there's no bigger prize than bragging rights. 

"One more point Lee," Johnny gloats, paddle in hand, a slow smirk stretching across his face. "Are you gonna drag me around the arcade again when you lose?" 

Taeyong scoffs and leans against the table. "That's a lot of talk from someone that lost at  _ Baby PacMan _ ." 

"I told you, my joystick was stuck," Johnny frowns. "And get over yourself. Do you really think I lost  _ all _ of those games? I  _ let _ you win. Beating you consistently would've been embarrassing. Even for me." 

"Bullshit," Taeyong scoffs again. "You wouldn't give me that much edge. You're just trying to justify so you won't seem like a sore loser."

“Sore loser my ass,” Johnny rolls his eyes. “Think about it. I’ve never truly lost to you. Ever. Not even once. So if I  _ had _ actually lost, it would mean that it was because I  _ wanted _ you to win. Not because I couldn’t.”

Taeyong cocks his head back with a frown. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would you  _ let _ me win anything?” Taeyong spies the hesitation across Johnny’s face and hardens, tightening his grip around the paddle. Mind games. That’s all it is. “Whatever Suh. I still call bullshit.”

Whatever brief thought occupied Johnny’s mind for that sliver of a moment crosses quickly and buries itself. Johnny grips his end of the air hockey table and leans forward, lips curling. "Ooh such language," he teases. "Why so tense?" 

There are a few choice words Taeyong could say, a couple that he wouldn't hesitate to say if it weren't for the few stray kids running about the area, but the more tame words that are hot and ready on his lips fizzle away when Johnny nods to something over Taeyong's shoulder, eyes drifting away. 

"Nice try," Taeyong says. "I turn my head, you take a shot. I'm not falling for that." 

"I'm not a cheat. I can win with dignity," Johnny responds, choosing to ignore Taeyong's derisive snort. "But I'm sure your brother isn't burning a hole in the back of your head for no reason." 

"What?" Taeyong blinks and looks over his shoulder. Donghyuck stands a couple of feet away, arms crossed, expression a mixture of frustration and confusion mirroring Taeyong's own. Taeyong turns back to face Johnny, surrendering his paddle on the table. "Five minutes," he points. "Give me five minutes." He doesn't wait for Johnny's confirmation. Johnny's an annoying, pompous, try-hard, but he's also a man of his word. Taeyong will give him that. 

Taeyong treks across the mottled carpet to where Donghyuck waits, pulling the string of tickets off his person. "What." 

"What's...going on here?" Donghyuck points between Taeyong and Johnny, still waiting in the distance. 

"What's going on is I'm one point away from winning something that’s been a long time coming," Taeyong folds his arms. "I thought you were bowling with Mark?" 

Donghyuck presses his lips together and exhales through his nose. "We cut it short. Something came up. So, I'm sorry to interrupt your...weird date with Johnny that, apparently we need to revisit later, but I wanna go home, hyung." 

"What?" Taeyong drops his hand to his sides. "Why? I'm one point from winning!" 

"You wish," Johnny calls. 

Taeyong angles a hard glare over his shoulder before grabbing Donghyuck by the wrist, pulling him over towards the restroom. The strong smell of off-brand cleaner hits Taeyong’s nostrils with a burn and travels straight to his head, but he drags them further inside until the door creaks closed behind them. Taeyong checks every dented stall for any loiterers, kicking each one open until he's sure the coast is clear and turns to Donghyuck, propped against the wall near the paper towel dispenser. 

"Donghyuck," Taeyong moves to stand before the younger, "you begged me to come here. Remember earlier? All that excitement about it being a date? And now you're in a rush to leave?" 

Donghyuck wedges his fingers deep into his bicep, arms tight across his chest. "I came to my senses, hyung." He says, watching the faucets drip asynchronously. "You're right and you were right all along. We should be at home—studying." 

Taeyong narrows his eyes. "What's wrong with you? You  _ never _ want to study and you  _ never _ admit when I'm right—though that goes without admitting," Taeyong smirks to himself, but recovers when Donghyuck doesn't feed into the chase. "Now I  _ know _ something is wrong," Taeyong steps closer and rests a hand on Donghyuck's shoulder, brows knitting together when Donghyuck doesn't meet his eyes. "Did something happen with Mark? Did he do something to you?" 

"No," Donghyuck answers quickly. “Nothing like that I just— I just wanna go. Now." 

Donghyuck is transparent even when he tries not to be, skin of glass, and just as fragile, exposing what's deep inside of him. Taeyong tries his best to pick and choose when to prod, when to leave Donghyuck alone to his own devices to figure things out himself, but very rarely does Donghyuck come looking to Taeyong for salvation from these kinds of things. Taeyong's not exactly sure what he's saving Donghyuck from, but behind the defiance and mischief, behind the thin veil of Donghyuck's aura threatening to bubble over, is a plea, too stubborn to make itself known.

"Well if nothing's wrong," Taeyong tries, "and you're not hurt, just give me a few minutes to wrap up with Johnny and then we can leave." 

"Taeyong," Donghyuck edges. "I want to go now." 

Taeyong frowns. There’s the Donghyuck he had expected. "I heard you the first time. Have a bit of patience. I have to finish a game. Okay?" He hands Donghyuck the tangled tickets. “Why don’t you go cash these in or something? Unless,” he trails off, “something did happen, and you want to talk about it?”

Donghyuck sets his jaw and pushes out a hard breath, snatching the tickets from Taeyong’s hands. “Fine,” he gestures towards the bathroom door. “Go finish your date. Be my guest.”

“It’s not a date,” Taeyong bristles. He waits a couple of seconds, eyes fixed on Donghyuck in case he has a sudden change of heart, conceding to the idea of talking to Taeyong about the ups and downs of his love life for once. But Donghyuck only blinks back at him, unyielding, annoyance etched on his face. Fine. If Donghyuck didn’t want to tell him, he didn’t have to.

Taeyong yanks the bathroom door open and steps out into the arcade’s lobby. The cold air is far more noticeable than before for some strange reason, sending a strong chill up his spine and it takes less than a few seconds for Taeyong to attribute it to Donghyuck’s icy demeanor, brooding several steps behind him. Taeyong looks over his shoulder just in time to see Donghyuck plop down on a bench, stacking tickets together, but his expression isn’t as steely as Taeyong anticipates. In fact, Donghyuck  _ grins _ at him, satisfied, if the crinkle of his eyes is any give away, and continues folding the tickets together, nodding his head for Taeyong to continue on.

Taeyong opts to ignore the sudden change against his better judgment. Prying too deep into anything with Donghyuck never ends well and for once, Taeyong wants to revel in victory, even if it’s something as petty as beating Johnny Suh at air hockey.

The air grows colder the closer Taeyong gets to the table and he tucks away Donghyuck’s insolence, picking up his paddle once again. Johnny barely acknowledges his presence, tied to his phone and Taeyong clears his throat. “Okay enough games Suh,” he says, reaching for the puck in the chamber on his side. “I have places to be so let’s put an end to this.”

“Ditto,” Johnny doesn’t look up from his phone. “Next point wins all?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Johnny pockets the device and grabs his paddle, eyes briefly flitting to Taeyong’s person and then to the puck, but then his eyes return, so hot on Taeyong’s skin that the cold air rises as a warm heat settling on the apples of Taeyong’s cheeks. Johnny freezes in place, fingers tight around the paddle and lips parted, eyes wondering about Taeyong’s figure until Taeyong’s sure the splotchy red across Johnny’s nose and at the tip of his ears isn’t from the blinking score hovering inches above them.

Taeyong takes his opportunity, smacking his paddle against the puck, sending it gliding into Johnny’s goal with a loud clatter. The air horns blare, and the lights dance in a round, shrouding the both of them in a kaleidoscope of colors.

“Well this is a first,” Taeyong teases. “Johnny Suh speechless. I like it.”

The red on Johnny’s face spreads down to his neck and he drops his own paddle on the air hockey table, pushing away with tentative steps. He bumps into a girl behind and ushers out a feeble apology, flustered and uncouth. A large part of Taeyong’s ego swells at the sight but he can’t say that he isn’t curious at the weird change from cocky to discomposed. Johnny looks at him with varying emotions— like Taeyong’s suddenly sprouted two extra heads, but also with something else, something that, if Taeyong hadn’t known any better, could easily be mistaken for…

No. No way. He wouldn’t even think it.

“What the hell is wrong with you Suh?” Taeyong nods his head at Johnny’s retreating form.

“You—” Johnny swallows hard and scratches his neck, “ — you’re weird Lee.”

Weird? Taeyong cocks his head back and watches as Johnny makes a beeline for the exit without another word. It’s a new take on a sore loser, Taeyong thinks. Leave it to Johnny to be anything but gracious in defeat, but  _ weird _ ? The word choice is strange. Taeyong had expected the typical barbed insult, maybe even a baited request for one last rematch, but  _ weird _ ?

A few passersby shoot curious glances Taeyong’s way, too many to ignore, their eyes glancing lower before settling on his face. Some of them give him odd looks and some, looks of curiosity, and a rare few give him an encouraging thumbs up with a plastered grin and a loud, ‘speak your truth, bro!’ that’s more alarming than anything.

Taeyong glances down and chokes out a gasp.

His black jeans are gone, replaced by a black pleated skirt, just short enough to expose an ample amount of his thighs and bare legs. His immediate reaction is to shield himself with his hands, covering whatever slivers of skin he can manage but his eyes snap to Donghyuck, still glued to the bench with a deviant’s smirk and a faint curl of his aura curling at the tip of his index finger.

“DONGHYUCK!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the moment, I anticipate that this fic may be updated monthly, unless I can manage to get the updates written within two weeks. I'll also be working on a lot of my other chaptered fics and holding voting polls on my twitter account to decide which ones will be updated. If you're interested in voting or if you just want to talk, my info is below!
> 
> Kudos are welcomed! Comments make me happy!
> 
> [CC](https://curiouscat.me/AskEnergy)  
> [twt](https://twitter.com/energeticalee)

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments are welcomed!
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/energeticalee)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/AskEnergy)


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